


The Winged Detective

by storytellerof221b



Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: AU, Angels, Betrayal, Bondage, Demons, Handcuffs, Hellhounds, Jealousy, M/M, Men of Letters British Branch (Supernatural), Sexual Inexperience, blindfold, ropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:27:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 51,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22160098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellerof221b/pseuds/storytellerof221b
Summary: Sherlock finds a strange feather in 221B's living-room. Mycroft sends him a weird new client. He also meets some strange American men who call themselves Hunters. He also finds out about angels and demons walking the earth. But the most irritating thing is his brother knows all about it.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 17
Kudos: 28





	1. Feathery Evidence

**Author's Note:**

> This happens after having binge-watched both Sherlock and Supernatural over the holidays. It's my first attempt at a crossover, so please bear with me.

Sherlock knelt over the cold and mutilated corpse. His fingertips touched his nose and he had to fight the urge to scratch it. No one but Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade was able to see that. He didn't say a word about it though. He knew better; he had to wait him out.  
The crease above Sherlock’s nose showed clearly. All this was disturbing, even for him.  
The body had been violently stabbed and blood was all over the place. Somehow the eyes had been burnt out. There were only black holes left. The walls and ceilings were covered in blood. But the most disturbing fact was the pair of painted wings on the ground beside the body. It very much looked like an angel like this. A very dead angel.  
John found it equally disturbing being raised strongly catholic. DI Lestrade just considered it strange. He had seen too much weird in his time both as a constable and a detective. Plus, he had been in homicide for years now and nothing much could raise his brow.  
Both men looked questioningly at Sherlock who kept staring at the corpse. Anderson hovered by the wall and smirked being happy about the fact that the great Sherlock Holmes was clueless.  
“Has there any weapon been found?” Sherlock asked into thin air. Lestrade shook his head.  
“Not in this room there was. But we haven’t been through the whole place yet.” Sherlock stood and his hands fell to his side.  
“Then hurry. It should be obvious. The wound is deep and wide. It must be at least 30 cm long and 4 cm wide and it should be very, very sharp. Probably steel or something similar. And what about the eyes?” He looked around and his eyes fell on Anderson who just leant against the door frame. He sneered at him.  
“Now be a good sniffer dog, Anderson, and find the weapons!” Sherlock referred to the drugs bust several years ago and everyone in the room knew it. He actually wanted to answer him but Greg just gave him both the look and a pointed finger and he quickly left.  
“Have you ever seen such a thing?” John asked and Greg shook his head.  
“No, I haven’t. What about the paint on the floor? Is it even paint?” Greg questioningly looked at Sherlock who got his magnifying glass out of his coat pocket and bent down to look again. He leant in close and sniffed, too.  
“What else could it be?” Lestrade asked and Sherlock just hummed.  
“I have absolutely no idea.” He looked intrigued and John knew the next days would be exhausting. He would have to look after him, make him eat and sleep. He also knew, he would have to stay with him, couldn’t go to work. Not that he was complaining, not at all. This was much more exciting than surgery and flue sick kids puking on your clothes and shoes. And the big plus was that he could just be with his flatmate, the man he secretly adored, perhaps even loved.  
Suddenly Sherlock swirled around and stared at Lestrade. Greg knew that look and hopes rose up.  
“What? What is it?” He asked hoping for a clue that would lead to something; anything.  
“I need a sample scratched off the floor, too. I don’t trust your forensics. I do trust your forensic equipment though.” Greg sighed and shook his head.  
“As soon as the crime scene is free to roam you may take your samples.” Sherlock looked very pleased.  
“What about the other rooms?” He asked and Lestrade checked. He looked at him.  
“You may go and have a look but be careful, please?” He was gone already waving for John.  
“Come along, John!” John obediently followed him and exchanged a last look with Greg.  
“What are you looking for?” John asked when Sherlock crept over the floor in another empty cold room. His nose almost touched the wooden floorboards. John hoped he wouldn’t have to pull splinters out of his nose later.  
“Anything. Yet, admittedly, I don't have a single idea. Not a single one. It’s a bit not good.” He almost sounded sad when slowly straightening up. He kept kneeling with his palms on his thighs.  
John suddenly felt very warm and copious amounts of blood rushed south.  
“Bloody hell!” He thought and swallowed.  
“What do you think happened here, John?” John turned his head.  
“What?” Turning his head had been a mistake because now he met Sherlock’s eyes.  
“I asked, what do you think happened here? Pay attention, John!” Sherlock chided and stared up at him. John swallowed.  
“Well, he was stabbed; obviously. The marks on the ground look like wings. My first thought was “angel”. The amount of blood is a bit weird. It’s too much for one human being.” John shrugged helplessly. Sherlock slowly stood.  
“So you assume the wings are painted by blood?" He snorted and shook his head.  
"Would it be a perfect amount of blood for an angel, John?” He snickered and made a beeline around him leaving the room. John quickly adjusted his pants and followed him.  
Anderson was just packing up when the corpse was being brought outside. Only then Sherlock pulled out his own small set of evidence-bags and tools. Very carefully he scratched a tiny amount off the floor and stored it in the bag. He took some blood, too.  
“I am done here, Lestrade. I’ll give you a call later.” And gone he was. John smiled at Greg who just rubbed slowly over his neck. John thought he looked exhausted.  
Outside Sherlock raised his hand and a cab promptly stopped right in front of him. He climbed inside followed by John.  
“Bart’s hospital.” He ordered the cabbie and off they went.  
“You want to look at the body again?” John asked.  
“Yes, I can work better in the morgue with Molly. Anderson would just spoil everything.”  
“But she has to do the post-mortem first. You can’t just push to the front.” Sherlock looked up from his mobile.  
“Oh, can’t I, John?” He grinned and kept typing furiously. John sighed. They arrived a few minutes later and Sherlock dashed into the morgue as if he owned the place. He wore his best charming expression for poor Dr Hooper.  
“Molly, you look splendid!” The smile on his face seemed to be warm but wasn’t. John could clearly see it, but Molly couldn’t. She beamed at Sherlock and let him do as he pleased.

***

After he had angrily tossed his used gloves into the bin, he just turned and left. He left both John and his coat behind. John didn’t comment but spoke a few words with Dr Hooper. Then he picked up the coat and followed him. He found him outside having a fag. John looked at him but Sherlock didn’t react. He took his coat back with a smile though, a real smile. For John it was enough.  
“What now?” John asked wondering about his plans. But he just dropped the cigarette and shrugged.  
“Back to Baker Street. I need my lab.” Again, magically a cab stopped after he had just raised his hand. John followed.  
Back home Sherlock at once sat at the kitchen-table and started working. John sorted through the cupboards and wrote a shopping-list. Sherlock didn’t acknowledge him leaving the flat at all but John was used to that. He would see that he ate something later. Perhaps he could lure him to dinner with something he liked plus a glass of wine.  
John took his time at the supermarket because the lines were rather long. Plus, he didn't want to use the chip and pin machine which he hated quite a lot. He always liked very much to punch and kick them, make them fly around the place. He only was back about two hours later. The place in front of the microscope was empty.  
“Sherlock?” He called out wondering if he had left without calling him.  
“Fire-place!” The answer came a few seconds later and sounded rather off. John placed all the shopping on the ground and shed his jacket. He walked up to him and saw him kneeling in front of the fire-place.  
“What’s wrong? Did you fall?” He moved faster but Sherlock shook his head.  
“No, but look what I found!” He pointed into the ashes and John went down on his knees, too. He saw a rather huge black feather which looked rather the same as the ones that had been painted on the floor.  
“That’s odd, isn’t it?” John looked at Sherlock who agreed.  
“Yes, it is, isn’t it? There are no birds dead on the roof or stuck in the chimney. I checked that. The feather is rather big and I have no idea what kind of bird or animal is carrying such intricate wings.” John really didn't want to know how exactly Sherlock had checked that.  
“Were there any feathers at the crime-scene?” John asked looking at him. Sherlock slanted his eyes.  
“No, there weren’t. Interesting …” He murmured and looked at John again. John felt like hypnotised and wasn’t able to move. He swallowed. Sherlock was so close; he was able to feel his body-heat and smell his skin. Hell, he could even smell the different luxurious products Sherlock used.  
And suddenly Sherlock was very much closer. He was leaning towards John and his eyes were halfway closed.  
“John, you smell like tea and cupcake with a hint of disinfectant and leather.” He hummed and completely closed his eyes. John had to clear his throat and prayed to God that Sherlock wouldn’t notice his raging hard-on. But God obviously had other things to do because Sherlock’s eyes shot open and his gaze wandered south. John saw his pupils widen and John wished for a hole to open.  
“I am sorry.” He barely got out the words. He only wanted to get up. Quickly.  
“What for?” Sherlock stopped him with his large hands on his shoulders holding him down.  
“I know you don’t … Just ignore me.” John didn’t look at him and struggled to get up.  
“How could I ever ignore you, John? Perhaps it’s finally time to do this?” And his lips brushed over John’s and time stopped existing.

***

John closed his eyes and relaxed. His hands came up and he embraced Sherlock whose kisses were rather tender and careful. But on noticing John’s almost surrender he became more forceful, held him tighter and pressed his tongue between his lips. Now John moaned into Sherlock’s mouth and pressed his body against Sherlock’s. He was able to feel his cock against his stomach and it made him groan.  
When they had to let go because they needed to breathe, it was like being in heaven. Sherlock looked all dazed and both men were breathing heavily.  
“John, I …” Sherlock helplessly tried to say something.  
“Hush, Sherlock. This is too good to destroy with words.” John smiled and kept holding him. His hands moved over his too thin body, felt the bones protruding under his skin. And he desperately wanted to feel skin, so he pulled at Sherlock’s dress-shirt.  
“Not here, John. Please?” Sherlock stopped him and John got up quickly. Sherlock followed suit. They kept holding hands.  
“Your bedroom?” John roughly asked and Sherlock nodded.  
“Wait!” He suddenly said and John stopped dead.  
“What? What’s wrong?” John looked worried, but Sherlock just tightened his grip around John’s hand.  
“The feather.” He retrieved another evidence-bag and put the feather in there. He carefully placed it on the kitchen-table.  
“You went shopping.” He sounded surprised upon noticing the bags.  
“Yes? Why?” John looked at him.  
“I am sure you want me to eat. I will eat. I am having a feeling; I will need loads of energy.” John smiled at the hint but would later take the opportunity to make Sherlock eat some pasta with a cheese sauce and tons of calories. But now he wanted them to be inside Sherlock's bedroom.  
“Come on, John. I promise to eat afterwards.” John swallowed and just kept looking. Sherlock knew this confused look and knew also exactly what to do.  
“Please?” He gently pulled at his hand. John woke and once shortly shook himself. He lifted his head and grinned. Sherlock's heart felt like bursting.  
They entered the bedroom and Sherlock didn't know what to do at first. But he knew he wanted to get naked with John. So, he just started to unbutton his shirt. At the same time, he started to toe off his shoes and socks.  
“No.” But John stopped him. Why was John stopping him? Didn't he want to proceed? Sherlock froze and made a step backwards.  
“Let me.” John slowly approached and started on his dress-shirt.  
“Oh ...” Sherlock thought. Soon after he didn't think anymore. There were only hands, John's hands, on his naked skin. They were everywhere. He hadn't imagined, it would be like this. It had never been like this. The few times he had allowed others to touch him; it was better not to talk about it. He sighed with his eyes closed.  
Somehow, they ended up on his bed with him beneath John. But he didn't mind, not at all. He looked up at him out of hooded eyes. He was surprised that by now John was naked, too. How beautiful he was. Muscular, still a bit tanned, and then there was the scar. He felt the need to touch it, so he slowly lifted his hand and reached out. John tensed and their eyes met. Finally, John just closed his eyes and nodded. Very tenderly Sherlock moved his fingertips over the scarred skin, moving them from the inside to the outside. John twitched but let him. Sherlock catalogued everything and only let go after a few minutes and a final kiss right into the middle of the tormented tissue.  
“Thank you ...” John's blue eyes swam and he buried his face into Sherlock's neck breathing hard and hot against his skin. Sherlock slung his long arms around him and somehow the move made him aware of his cock. It was hard and leaking. He also felt John's prick pressing against his stomach. He felt heat creeping up. This was upsetting him and his fingers tightened around John's arms. He also tried to move away and John lifted his head again.  
“What's wrong?” He asked softly.  
“Could you move away for a moment? Please?” Sherlock sounded tense. John tried to look into his eyes but Sherlock's head was turned away. John at once moved and got up sitting against the headrest.  
Sherlock exhaled and inhaled several times until he sat up, too.  
“I am sorry, John. It was too close. Your, your penis was. I am sorry.” John didn't know what to say. Everything could be wrong or too much or not enough. Suddenly he felt very naked and rather cold. He looked around for his pants and t-shirt but they were both crumbled on the hardwood and too far away. He inhaled and wanted to move out of bed, but suddenly there was Sherlock's hand holding him back.  
“No, please. Don't go. I just need time to adjust. Perhaps it was too quick. But I would like you to stay, if you … I mean, I don't ...” John turned again and now was able to meet his eyes. He looked almost terrified and it was an expression he had never ever seen on Sherlock's face before. It was also an expression he never wanted to see again.  
“Whatever you need, Sherlock.” Only then Sherlock relaxed and it was good to watch. He rested his forehead on John's good shoulder.  
“I need you to touch me, kiss me. But you can't touch me with it, your penis, not yet, I can't ...” John wondered what this was about, but he just carded his fingers through his hair.  
“As I have just said, whatever you need.” He pressed a kiss on top of his unruly hair and felt the suppressed sobbing.  
“Whenever you are ready to talk, Sherlock.” They sat there until Sherlock's stomach rumbled rather loudly. He tensed again but finally sat up.  
“I think, it's time to feed me, John.” He smiled rather sadly and disappeared into the bath. John sighed and got up, too. He picked up his clothes and stared at his still rather hard penis. And then he just got dressed again and soldiered into the kitchen to cuddle his flatmate and hopefully soon to be lover.

***

Sherlock came out of the bath dressed in comfy clothes. His hair was still damp and he hadn't cared about taming it with his many products. John looked at him and smiled. He was stirring the sauce and added the cheese right into it. Sherlock crept closer.  
“This smells divine.” John dipped a teaspoon into it and held it up for Sherlock to taste. He sucked it into his mouth and licked the spoon clean. When John pulled, he twirled his tongue around the metal and they stared into each other's eyes.  
“I will cook whenever it's needed. You need to eat.” Sherlock sighed. And he ate. He also drank the wine.  
After dinner he stretched out his legs under the table and bumped against John’s legs.  
“This was delicious, John.” He almost beamed at him and John felt very good.  
“I am glad you liked it. It’s not easy to please you.” Sherlock rubbed over his stomach and then his hand wandered south while he kept looking at John very bashful.  
“Sometimes it is.”


	2. Going Abroad

The three men sat in a row on a plane. The tallest one with lots of chin-long shaggy hair sat by the aisle to be able to stretch his long legs.  
“You are way too broad, Dean.” The voice came from the third passenger sitting by the window. He had rather dark hair and a kind face, and spoke rather roughly even though it still sounded soft-voiced.  
“Then fold your bloody wings back in, Cas!” The man in the middle said.  
“They are not up, as you can clearly see, Dean.” He replied in a serious tone.  
“Shut up, you two. It’s grating on my nerves.” Sam closed his eyes. Only why had he agreed to this?  
“You could have gone with Cas. The last time he zapped me somewhere, my digestion was off for days!” Dean sounded angry.  
“Too much information, Dean. I wouldn’t have let you go alone.” Sam looked at him.  
“I am a grown-up, you know?” Dean answered. Cas quietly snorted. Sam looked at him.  
“When did that happen?” The flight-attendant came around with food and drinks.  
“Would you like a snack, Sir?” She asked looking at Cas. By now he knew that taking nothing from what was offered was considered rather impolite or even suspicious.  
“Vodka, please.” She handed it over and he neatly placed the plastic cup with the napkin on the tray in front of him.  
“Thank you!” He politely smiled and she looked at Dean.  
“You, Sir?” She looked into his expectant face.  
“You’ve got any cake?” He asked and Sam just shook his head.  
“I could offer you a cookie, if you like?” He looked disappointed but took it.  
“And a whiskey, please.” He placed everything on his tray, as well. Now it was Sam’s turn. He just took water. She left glancing at Dean for a bit longer who looked right back at her out of his greenish eyes.  
Surprisingly for Sam and Dean Cas downed his vodka rather quickly. Neither man commented. Somehow Castiel had begun to like drinking alcohol. Perhaps Castiel just spent too much time with Dean.  
Dean devoured his cookie and kept complaining that there wasn’t any cake. Sam quietly drank his water and checked the time repeatedly.  
Dean complained about the film being shown, the music being played and everything in general.  
“Dean?” Castiel's quiet voice made him turn his head. Cas touched his forehead with a fingertip and Dean lost the ability to speak. His eyes darkened and he threw his body into the seat. He sulked for the rest of the journey. Sam was thankful and tried to sleep for a little bit. The moment the plane touched down Dean’s voice was back.  
They left the plane and collected their luggage. Well, Sam and Dean did because Cas had no need for suitcases. Sam had rented a car and went to pick up the keys. Standing in front of the car, he realised he had to drive on the left.  
Dean complained about the car and the wrong side. He also mentioned several times how much he missed his baby, meaning his beloved Impala.  
Cas just raised his finger and he quickly closed his mouth. Somehow, they reached their hotel without having caused an accident and went up to their rooms. Cas just followed them inside theirs because he actually had no need for a room. They had booked two to not be too suspicious. Plus, this hotel didn't have rooms for three adults.  
“Any idea if we could bump into the Brits?” Dean asked looking through the mini-bar. He meant the British Men of Letters.  
“It’s surely a possibility.” Sam looked thoughtful and watched his brother sorting through the provided booze and nosh while unpacking his suitcase.  
“I can feel the presence of some very strong angels.” Cas suddenly said looking into nothing. Both Sam and Dean turned to look at him.  
“Archangels?” Sam asked but Castiel shook his head.  
“No, but equally strong.” He replied.  
“Evil angels like Luci?” Dean asked and Cas shrugged.  
“I don’t know. There is nothing on angel radio.” He looked a bit confused.  
Meanwhile Dean had found the latest newspaper on the table.  
“Ha!” Now they looked at him.  
“What?” Sam asked and Dean held up the page he had just found. The headline said:  
“Weird angelic homicide in abandoned house! Scotland Yard clueless and baffled as always!”  
“We should go there and investigate.” Cas suggested and wanted to leave.  
“We can’t pose as FBI agents here. This is England.” Dean sounded annoyed.  
“Yes, but we could use the MI5 badges I got from Mick back then.” Sam showed them around.  
“Neat, little brother.” Dean grinned and Sam just handed over one badge. They checked on the location and Sam decided to not go by car. London traffic had terrified him, that's why they went by tube. It was quite an adventure. They had to change lines several times, they took the wrong direction or the wrong line and rode miles of escalators up and down.  
It also took them what felt like hours to find out a way to pay until they managed to buy three Oyster Cards. Fortunately, there were always helpful people who pointed the way.  
Unfortunately, the crime-scene was heavily guarded by the police and they weren’t able to enter. Sam started to google and found out about Sherlock Holmes, the Consulting Detective, who was investigating this case.  
“Perhaps we should go and see him?” Dean wondered.  
“And tell him what? That we are chasing an insane serial killer murdering angels?” Sam answered.  
“Aren’t there any sane people with the Men of Letters over here?” Cas asked.  
“I don’t know, but I don’t think so.” Sam answered and thought about his time in the basement where he was tortured very thorough by Lady Antonia Bevell. Sometimes his foot still hurt.  
“They are a bunch of evil douches.” Dean exclaimed.  
“You are probably right. They called me “Halo”.” Cas sounded annoyed now, too.  
“They are dead now, dead evil douches.” Dean grinned and even Castiel did a little bit.  
“Let’s go back to the hotel, have dinner and drinks and search the net for information.” Sam suggested and the others agreed. They rode back and somehow Dean by now had fun on the tube. Sam hated every second but mostly because of the very long and steep escalators and Castiel was just experiencing. He took everything as an adventure.  
Back into their room Sam googled Sherlock Holmes and found the site “The Science of Deduction”. He found it interesting and showed it to Dean who just snorted at the differences between over 240 types of tobacco ashes. Then he found the room-service menu.  
Later that evening Sam and Dean slept due to the jet-lag. Castiel just sat there and watched over them. He also watched telly and listened to angel radio.


	3. More Posh Brits

Mycroft entered 221B and swiftly climbed up the stairs. He politely knocked once and then opened the door.  
“Sherlock?” He called out swirling his umbrella. He heard the water in the bath but knew it was John.  
“He is not here!” Sherlock yelled from his bedroom and Mycroft just walked over and pushed the door open. Sherlock was resting in a heap of pillows and blankets and looked over the hem. He threw a book at his brother.  
“Fuck off!” Mycroft elegantly raised his umbrella and the book got thrown back by its handle. Sherlock pouted.  
“Did you have fun?” He asked smirking. The room smelled of sex and the clothes of a certain Dr John H. Watson were all over the hardwood. But Mycroft was also worried and his eyes quickly scanned over his brother.  
“Jealous much?” Sherlock smirked but he also opened up to his brother to calm him down. He needed him to be nice to John.  
“No need.” Mycroft cheekily replied and Sherlock raised a brow. What did he not know?  
“It’s about the alien homicide, Sherlock. We need to talk.” Mycroft sat on the deck-chair.  
“I thought it was more supernatural, brother-mine.” Sherlock sat up against the headrest and looked at him.  
“More or less, I suppose. Anyway, I was informed about the facts by a very old organisation in England. They don’t have the needed resources to do it themselves and for that reason they ask you.”  
“No, they don’t. You do. Who are they?” Sherlock demanded to know.  
“They are the British Men of Letters.” Mycroft answered and sounded as if Sherlock was supposed to know everything about them.  
“Are they too posh to swing their aristocratic arses up here into my living-room to ask for my help?” Sherlock asked and right then John entered his bedroom all naked. Mycroft looked up and grinned looking him up and down. John furiously blushed and quickly returned into the bath. Sherlock grinned, too.  
“Nice.” Mycroft said and Sherlock just nodded.  
“Yes, indeed he is, isn’t he? Now, the Letters. If, and I say if, I am going to work for them, whom will I be reporting to?” Sherlock asked.  
“Me. You will be reporting only to me.” Sherlock shook his head.  
“No, Mycroft. You know, I don’t do anonymous clients. Tell them to appear or name someone to talk to.” Sherlock was very stubborn and Mycroft tried to stare him down but failed. He sighed. John returned still a bit reddish but clad in his shabby robe.  
“Tea anyone?” His solution for everything. He looked at them.  
“Thank you, Dr Watson. My brother didn’t offer any.”  
“Milk, two sugars, please.” Sherlock looked at John.  
“I know, love.” John smiled and left the room. Sherlock beamed. Mycroft gaped.  
“Well, I will talk to the Men of Letters and see what I can do.” Mycroft told Sherlock.  
“What are they anyway? And why do you know them and I don’t?” Sherlock wondered.  
“They are very old. Where I take care of actual threats such as terror attacks, they prevent attacks from beyond.”  
“Beyond? As in hell? Are you kidding me?” Sherlock outright laughed but stopped seeing his brother’s face.  
“You can’t be serious!” He said staring at him. John returned having heard the last sentences spoken.  
“I have heard rumours about them. Some special ops have been sent in for their support.” He handed over the tea.  
“See? Even John knew about them.” Now he pouted again.  
“Perhaps you didn't pay enough attention?” Mycroft chided his younger brother.  
“What is all this about anyway? Our angel?” John asked.  
“So, they think it’s an actual angel?” Sherlock asked. Mycroft just looked at him.  
“Talk to me, brother-mine!” Mycroft sipped his tea.  
“They don’t think it is. They know.” Sherlock choked on his tea and John stood again getting a warm wash-cloth to wipe him clean.  
After Sherlock had recovered from his coughing fit, he showed the feather to Mycroft. He took the plastic bag and looked at it.  
“I will tell them you had an angel visiting and one of the Men of Letters will appear and talk to you. Very good, Sherlock.” Mycroft stood.  
“You brought an interesting case, Myc. Thanks!” Sherlock smiled all over his face.  
“Don’t thank me too fast, Sherlock. And be careful, please?” Then he left. On his way out he bid good-bye to Dr Watson, as well.  
Sherlock shot out of bed, naked as he was, and took his computer. John took it away again.  
“Go and have a shower first. Your skin will be all itchy.” They grinned and Sherlock hurried. He was happy; they had been able to get icky without any pricks touching. John knew very well what to do to prevent it. And it had been wonderful, even without the actual fucking. John got dressed and soon enough Sherlock appeared ready for the angel hunt.

***

They spent the afternoon researching the British Men of Letters with absolutely no result at all. Sherlock was frustrated and shouted abuse at Google. John stroked over his head to calm him down.  
They were just sitting down with a drink when the doorbell rang. Mrs Hudson wasn’t home so John went to answer the door. They came upstairs and it was eerily quiet. Sherlock raised his brows when John came back followed by a woman clad in a business-suit. She also carried a leather briefcase. Sherlock stood and approached her. John closed the door and placed the chair for the clients at its place.  
“My name is Sherlock Holmes and this is my partner Dr John Watson. You have been speaking to my brother?” He looked at her but didn’t offer his hand.  
“Yes, Mr Holmes. Your brother explained the situation and here I am to explain everything to you. I assume, Dr Watson is supposed to stay?” Sherlock just nodded. She opened her bag and pulled out several papers she held up.  
“Dr Watson, you have to sign this. Your current security-level is too low.” John raised a single brow. He took the papers and sat on the sofa. Then he started to read. Sherlock smiled. She had obviously expected him to sign them blindly.  
“Anyway, my name is Deborah Kingston. I am leading the foreign department with the London Chapter House. The former leader has been killed. He was an operator also leading many tasks in the United States. This, the killed angel, is something related to certain incidents in Lebanon, Kansas.”  
“We do need some information about who you are and whom you are hunting. The talk about angels existing and such things is rather annoying. Compact would be just fine.” Sherlock looked at her while John kept reading.  
“Yes, your brother said you had no idea about us.”  
“I probably would, if any such creatures would have appeared earlier.” Sherlock started to sound annoyed.  
“Anyway, we are an organisation responsible for the decimation of the supernatural in the United Kingdom. The supernatural consists of vampires, witches, werewolves, warlocks, shape-shifters or ghouls. We have them all killed.”  
“So, you hire the military to annihilate those creatures?” She shook her head.  
“Not normally. Only when it gets too much and we need heavy weaponry. Normally we send a hunter or a team of them. They do what we tell them, at least here they do.” She cleared her throat.  
“And in Kansas they don’t?” Sherlock smirked.  
“No, they don’t.” She freely admitted it.  
“Does that mean they could interfere with my work?” Sherlock asked and she pulled more papers out of her bag.  
“Oh, absolutely. You will have to deal with these people. Sam and Dean Winchester and their pet angel Castiel.” Sherlock took the papers and photos and looked.  
“Interesting …” He muttered and scanned the information. It wasn’t much. Suddenly there was John leaning over his shoulder.  
“I have never seen an angel.” He said and looked at the picture of Castiel. He had signed everything.  
“What do you want us to do?” Sherlock asked rather rudely.  
“Well, we are interested in who killed the angel back in that house. We know it can’t be another angel. We haven’t been able to scan any demonic activities. We haven’t found any hex-bags. Just act like you normally do when solving a crime, Mr Holmes.”  
“And if I find someone or something?” She shrugged.  
“You arrest him and bring him over to the Chapter House or at least try to. If it isn’t possible to hold him or it, call us. We will send a team and take care of the rest.” She sounded cold.  
“I see.” Sherlock nodded.  
“How much?” He added knowing very well they would pay a nice amount that would keep John quiet for a while.  
“All your and Dr Watson’s expenses plus a daily amount of 500 Pounds each.”  
“Double it and we will start.” They locked eyes and finally she gave in.  
“Agreed.” She stood handing over her card. Sherlock took it and passed it over to John.  
“Coming back to those guys and their, what did you call him, pet angel?” Sherlock sounded a bit off asking it.  
“You should know, they have already arrived in London. They have been seen at the abandoned house but couldn’t gain entry even though they had old MI5 badges in their possession. We have monitored their internet access, laptops, and mobiles. They did their research about you. So be prepared, because they will appear sooner than later.”  
“What are they anyway? You are talking about them as if they were criminals.” John asked.  
“For us they are. They killed several of our men and women. Anyway, they are so called hunters. Normally they are supposed to work for us, do what we order them to do and execute the supernatural.”  
“So, there are hunters in Great Britain and all over the world, as well, but only the British hunters do actually work for you?” Sherlock asked and she nodded.  
“Yes, there are some hunters still around. But since we have been doing a great job over the last decades, there aren’t too many supernatural beings inside the UK. There is no actual need for hunters and their numbers shrunk.”  
“All this does sound very interesting. Do you have any archive I could visit?” Sherlock asked very seriously. She looked surprised.  
“Of course, we do have an archive, but it’s only for the Men of Letters. I need to check if you could be granted access.”  
“Obviously my brother is well-known to you. Does he have access?” Sherlock wanted to know.  
“Your brother knows a lot about very important people. I don’t know a lot about his relation to the London Chapter House.”  
“Never mind and don’t twist your knickers. I’ll ask him myself.” He smirked at her blushing face. She quickly picked up her briefcase and left 221B.  
“Well …” John shook his head and looked at Sherlock. Sherlock just shrugged and took his drink he had abandoned when the Woman of Letters had arrived.  
“I don’t think you are allowed to blog about this case.” Sherlock sipped his drink and John came over to sit with him again. He took his tumbler, too.  
“Yes, I believe you are right. These people deal with ugly things, Sherlock. Please promise me to be very, very careful.” John sounded dead serious. Sherlock just looked at him. A certain understanding was between them and they kissed for a moment.  
“So, what do you think about these American hunters?” John asked.  
“I am not interested in the hunters. I am interested in the angel.” Sherlock replied. John topped up their drinks.  
“And so, you should be.” The voice was suddenly there. John almost dropped the bottle and Sherlock turned his head to look at the intruder.  
“Who are you?” He asked looking him up and down. He wasn’t a tall man, a whiff of sulphur surrounded him and he was wearing a posh suit and coat.  
“The name is Crowley. King of Hell.” He made a light bow. Sherlock raised a brow and John just downed his drink. He filled a third one for their guest and offered it.  
“Good boy.” Crowley said and grinned.  
“Mine.” Sherlock replied. John blushed and sat by his side again.  
“Not interested.” Crowley looked around the flat and for a few seconds his eyes rested on the skull. He lowered his head and grinned. After a few seconds he started to talk again.  
“I have come to warn you about the British Bastards of Letters.” Crowley swirled the amber fluid around.  
“Why?” Sherlock just had to grin. He somehow liked the cheeky smallish man.  
“They aren’t honest. I bet the bitch lied to you. I can still smell her.” John wondered why the King of Hell spoke with an obvious Scottish accent. So, the devil was Scottish? Interesting.  
Suddenly John’s eyes met Crowley’s and the devil smirked at him. John blushed and moved closer to Sherlock.  
“What about the hunters and the angel?” Sherlock asked. Crowley shrugged.  
“Moose, Squirrel and his boyfriend? Well …” He shrugged and finally started to drink. Sherlock raised a brow when hearing their nicknames. John just shook his head. He wondered about what would happen when waking up. Perhaps he was just getting mad? Or he again was a victim of one of Sherlock’s bizarre experiments and this time he had inhaled something or been given drugs with his tea. Again. He snorted and shook his head. Sherlock looked at him and once just rubbed over his thigh. He knew exactly what John was thinking.  
“They are OK, those guys. We used to work together and often even had a jolly good time.” He sighed.  
Then there were steps on the stairs and voices outside. Someone politely knocked and Sherlock called out:  
“Come in!” Three men entered their living-room and Crowley made a few steps back into the room.  
“Crowley!” The tallest sounded annoyed.  
“Bloody hell!” The dark one said. And the third one clad in a trench-coat just stood between them and at once focused on John. Sherlock saw that and looked between the angel and John. Again, he wondered what was going on but finally just stood.  
“I am Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective. This is my friend, Dr John Watson. And you are?” The three of them pulled out FBI badges and both Crowley and Sherlock snorted. Of course, Sherlock had seen their pictures being brought in by the Woman of Letters, but he wouldn't let them know too soon. And John just followed, as usual.  
“Bad fake. Just leave it, because you won’t mislead me. Let’s try again. Who are you?” He made a step towards them and John got up from the sofa. He sensed danger and his eyes never left the angel’s face.  
“I am Sam Winchester and this is my brother Dean. He is our friend Castiel. We are here to investigate an angel’s death.” He spoke very calm and friendly and held Sherlock’s gaze. His brother Dean started to make small steps into the flat and looked around. Castiel kept staring at John and John just stared back. Sherlock was very irritated, but he didn’t interrupt them.  
“Why?” Sherlock asked tilting his head.  
“Why not?” Sam made a step towards Sherlock who just straightened his body. He wasn’t as tall as Sam Winchester and could possible completely hide behind the man's body, but he wouldn’t cower.  
“He was a good friend and we want to find his killer.” Suddenly there was Castiel standing between them.  
“I would offer you a partnership for the time being, if I wouldn’t have been warned about you by a British organisation.” Dean turned around.  
“Oh, those God-damn douches!” He swore and slanted his eyes. John grinned. He liked him.  
“You are talking about the Men of Letters, aren’t you?” Castiel looked at Sherlock who nodded in reply.  
“Yes, they sent someone to inform and warn me about you. Not you though.” He looked at Crowley.  
“You can’t trust them or him.” Sam said knowing very well why. Dean nodded. And even Castiel agreed.  
“You are right not to trust them. I had a contract with Dr Hess, the Headmistress, for years.” Crowley smirked when both Dean and Sam just stared at him.  
“There must be more angels involved than the dead one and you.” Sherlock decided to tell them about the feather. He got the evidence bag and handed it over to Castiel who took it from him rather gingerly. He turned the bag in his hands and then lifted it up to look at it more closely.  
Then he opened the bag and wanted to pull it out, but Sherlock stopped him.  
“No! Don’t contaminate it. Here, take these.” He gave him a pair of gloves which he obediently pulled over his fingers. Everybody now looked at Castiel examining the single feather. He even sniffed it and John was strongly reminded of Sherlock.  
“It can’t be …” Castiel murmured turning the feather between his fingers.  
“What can’t?” Dean asked moving closer.  
“Impossible.” His facial expression was a mix of anger and hurt.  
“I need to check this.” And gone he was and with him went the feather. The evidence bag floated to the ground. Sherlock was speechless.  
“Where did he go?” He asked looking at Dean.  
“Heaven.” Crowley answered. By now Dean had reached the bar and poured himself a drink.  
“Dean!” Sam chided and John grinned.  
“Would you like something, too?” He asked Sam who nodded rather quickly.  
“Yes, water, please.” John filled a large glass for him and started on tea for himself and Sherlock. Dean stepped up to John and looked him up and down.  
“You have been a soldier, right?” He asked and John nodded. He hadn't moved an inch backwards even though Dean had invaded his personal space. And Dean was a tall and broad man. But that had never stopped John so far.  
“Yes, I was with the RAMC.” John replied.  
“He is an Army doctor.” Suddenly Sherlock was close by again. He was jealous that John attracted that much attention. At first from that angel Castiel and now from Dean Winchester, too. Now Dean looked at Sherlock.  
“I didn’t expect him to be a nurse, you know? I am not stupid.” Crowley chuckled, Sherlock murmured something very impolite and John poked him into his side.  
“How do you know?” John asked and earned himself a deadly glare from Sherlock.  
“You have that look. My dad had it, too. Plus, your behaviour is protective around your loved ones.” He pointed at Sherlock.  
“This is all very interesting, but you should concentrate on the killer now. Plus, don’t forget the Men of Letters. The Brits won’t be amused when finding out you have ganged up against them.” Crowley placed the tumbler on the coffee table and just disappeared. John had to open the windows due to the sulphuric smell.  
“How did you get involved anyway? I mean, the Brits are very secretive.” Sam came closer now after having only listened most of the time.  
“I am working with Scotland Yard. They pulled me in to have a look at the feathery corpse. It was all very odd. Afterwards my brother told me about the Men of Letters and they sent someone over to talk to me. They actually hired me because they want to know who killed that angel. Before she appeared, we found the feather Castiel has taken with him.” Sherlock sipped his tea and then suddenly stared at Dean.  
“Why are people referring to Castiel as your pet angel or something similar?” Dean’s green eyes darkened and it made Sherlock smile. So, Dean did like Castiel and perhaps he liked him a bit too much.  
“Cas is not our pet angel.” He sounded angry now and Sherlock started to have fun.  
“How much money did they offer you?” Sam asked.  
“I asked for 1.000 per day plus expenses for the both of us.” Sherlock shrugged. Sam stared and swallowed.  
“How come they trust you with this?” Sam asked drinking his water.  
“My brother does know about them. He gave me a briefing and probably talked them into hiring me, so he wouldn’t lose control.”  
“Who is your brother? He isn’t a Man of Letters, is he?” Sherlock laughed quietly.  
“He certainly is not. I would know if he had been to Hogwarts.” Now Sam laughed, too.  
“I like you! And it's actually called Kendricks Academy.” Dean said and fell on the sofa making himself at home.  
“You don’t seem to be too shocked about all this?” Sam looked at Sherlock.  
“Being shocked won’t help.” Sherlock stated and John sighed.  
“Well, I am sort of shocked. I mean, there are angels and the devil and obviously there are fights and what not.” John swallowed and looked between them.  
“Plus, Luci is real, too, and the Men of Letters suck.” Dean sipped his drink.  
“Luci?” John dared asking.  
“Lucifer. But he has disappeared into another dimension.” Dean looked at him.  
“Oh, I see. But what about that Crowley. He introduced himself as King of Hell?” Sam snorted and John looked at him.  
“He is the former King of the Crossroads, simply a crossroad demon.” Sherlock listened intently.  
“What does a crossroad demon do?” John asked all curious.  
“He grants wishes. Then he kisses you and gives you a contract. You mostly get 10 years.” Sam seriously said.  
“What happens then?” John was excited and leant forward.  
“You get killed by Hellhounds. They shred you to pieces and take you to hell.” John looked shocked.  
“You sound as if you knew what you are talking about.” Dean slowly nodded.  
“Yes, I do. Only it wasn't ten years but less than that.” He exhaled and John just topped his drink. Sam had been talking to Sherlock in the meantime.  
“So, you have studied law?” Sherlock suddenly asked and Sam nodded. He didn't even wonder about the fact that Sherlock knew. He had been studying his website.  
“I have started. Then things happened.” He looked over Sherlock’s shoulder at Dean who just looked back. Sherlock didn’t insist. He could always ask Mycroft.  
“I think, we should work together.” Dean suddenly said and they all looked at him. Sherlock looked at John who slowly nodded. Then he looked at Sam who looked at Dean. Finally, they agreed on a partnership.  
“But what are we going to tell that Woman of Letters?” John asked.  
“Nothing. We agreed on working for her and no more. She warned us and we listened. If she isn’t pleased, she can come and tell me in person.” Sherlock strode through the flat and almost bumped into Castiel who appeared out of nothing. He quickly made a step back and glared at him. Castiel wasn’t impressed.  
“I talked to some angels in heaven and they all agreed with me.” He quietly said and they all came closer.  
“Pray tell!” Sherlock sarcastically spat but Castiel didn’t react to the venom. John placed his palm on Sherlock’s lower back and it calmed him down a bit. Sherlock didn’t like Castiel. He didn’t like him because Castiel liked John.  
Sam raised his brow when watching John. Castiel again concentrated on John. He stood up very close to him and Sherlock almost hissed.  
“What do you need from me?” John stared into Castiel’s eyes.  
“You feel familiar.” Castiel said and Sherlock’s blood-pressure rose.  
“How so? I have never met you.” John still was his polite self.  
“Perhaps not in this life, no.” Cas looked thoughtful but didn’t explain more.  
“Could you please unfold your wings?” John suddenly blurted out. Sherlock’s head shot to the side, Sam smiled and Dean outright laughed. Castiel didn’t reply at once and John chewed on his lips casting his eyes.  
“I am sorry. This was probably very inappropriate. I apologize.” His cheeks flushed red, but Castiel smiled.  
“No, it wasn’t inappropriate. It was just surprising.” And the next second a pair of huge wings being already a bit shredded at the edges unfolded. Castiel's eyes were a shining light-blue, the flat became very bright and the air tasted of ozone. John was in awe and desperately wanted to touch but didn’t. Sherlock desperately wanted to use a Bunsen burner.  
By both unfolding and folding them back in he brushed over some things and books fell to the floor. Sherlock glared at Castiel for a few seconds more and then just stormed off into his room. The door banged close behind him and Sam and Dean looked surprised.  
“He isn’t easy to please, is he?” Castiel asked and John blushed. Then he just shook his head.  
“Plus, he is bloody jealous. Cas, you should stop looking at John like you do. Otherwise your wings might be soaked with acid or something flammable.” Dean grinned saying so.  
“I don’t understand.” Both John and Castiel said at the same time.  
“This human being is just very interesting. I need to find out more about him.” Cas explained.  
John then looked at the closed door to their bedroom.  
“I’ll go and talk to him. Feel free to stay or we set up another get together right now?” John suggested.  
“We actually need some rest.” Sam said and Dean nodded. He checked his watch.  
“Let’s say we meet tomorrow for breakfast?” John nodded.  
“Downstairs at 9. The café offers everything for a proper breakfast.” Sam nodded, too.  
“I could come back anytime to talk to you, John.” Castiel said staring at John.  
“It won’t be advisable, Castiel. Please don’t.” John shook his head no and Cas looked very disappointed. He just turned around and made some more books fall off the shelf by pointing his finger at them.  
“That was childish, Cas!” Dean called after him, but he was gone already.  
“I’ll talk to him. See you tomorrow.” Sam quickly followed Castiel.  
“I totally understand, you know? I was always fascinated by him. So, don’t be shy. Sometimes he likes to show off.” He grinned and waved good-bye. John shook his head still feeling a bit wonky. He opened the bedroom-door.  
Sherlock had climbed into bed with all his clothes on except for his shoes.  
“Sherlock?” John carefully said creeping a bit closer.  
“Go away!” It came out muffled, because he was half buried under the duvet. John knew he was pissed but didn’t give up. He wanted to stroke his hair, but Sherlock pulled away and hissed at him from down below.  
“Wash your hands!” John sighed and turned around. He did wash his hands and then undressed. Only clad in his boxers he climbed into bed, too. He moved up close but didn’t touch him. He just waited him out.  
It took Sherlock almost five minutes.  
“You don’t love me anymore …” This was the sign for John to move closer.  
“That’s a stupid thing to say, love. Of course, I do still love you.” He kissed his neck and Sherlock made a pleased noise.  
“And if you would have wings, yours would be the most wonderful and beautiful wings ever. You are my angel, Sherlock, and I will always love you.”  
Sherlock threw his body around and kissed John senseless.


	4. Angelic Disturbances

Mycroft turned his mobile around its axis repeatedly until he suddenly threw it against the wall with the power of anger. It crushed and bits and pieces rained down on the hardwood.  
He had just talked to Deborah Kingston who had explained his brother’s behaviour. She hadn’t been very pleased. Mycroft didn’t want to upset the Men of Letters. They were important people to deal with. Perhaps he should have known better than involving his darling little brother. He sighed.  
On the other hand, he was quite impressed by milking them of expenses plus 1.000 Pounds a day. He grinned. Darling little brother indeed.  
He would just have to wait until he heard from Sherlock. He had already watched the visit of the hunters and their angel over CCTV. He had also seen Crowley even though it was rather blurry on screen. He had never met him but knew who he was. It was rather interesting, that he appeared directly in 221B to warn Sherlock about the Men of Letters.  
Now, that Dr Hess, Kendricks former Headmistress, was dead, actually killed by a bunch of those American hunters, he wondered what would become of their connection. He would prefer someone else talking to the devil. Plus, he never would make a contract with him. Nothing was as powerful as a human soul, even his own.  
Well, his little brother had ganged up with the hunters and the angel. This would be very interesting indeed. He had clearly seen how jealous Sherlock had become because of John’s interest in Castiel and vice versa. He also was very interested in why John was so interesting to Castiel. What did Castiel feel when seeing John? What did he see in John? He chewed on his lip.  
It knocked on his door.  
“Yes, come in, Anthea!” He looked up when his PA entered the room. He only secretly called her his PA because she was anything but. She knew, of course, and had taught many people a lesson after having been treated as such.  
“Your new mobile, Sir.” She handed over a brand new mobile and picked up the shattered pieces from down below. He smiled.  
“Thank you, Anthea.”  
“We also have new intel on the Men of Letters activities in the US. I have sent an email.” He nodded.  
“Very good.” She left and he sat down at his desk again to view the incident in the containers when the whole section US was killed by a group of hunters including the Winchester's mother, Mary. How delightful.  
And rightfully so, he had to admit that, and he somehow admired their taking action. What the Men of Letters had done to both the Winchesters and a lot of other hunters and innocent beings, victims, hadn’t been too delightful. Even to him it had seemed to be very inappropriate. Plus, he was glad that the ugly woman, the Headmistress, was gone. Probably gone to hell she had. The hellhound Mr Ketch had been training would have broken free out of his cage and taken her. It didn't matter that the Sheriff, Jodie, had shot her already. Due to the contract the soul would have been trapped and the hound had all the time he needed. The explosion wouldn't have stopped him and the corpse didn't matter, only the soul did. Mycroft smirked. Perhaps he could ask the King of Hell himself when he appeared at 221B again. And he was quite convinced that he would.

He stared at his new mobile and scrolled through his contacts. There were a lot of contacts but not too many personal ones. His thumb hovered over the data of one certain Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. There even was a picture. Mycroft Holmes wasn’t the person who had his contacts personalised. He bloody well knew how the people looked whom he wanted to contact. But this man was dear to him, not that he would ever admit it.  
Again, he sighed. He was in desperate need of a goldfish. His brother had been damn right. Perhaps he should dare asking him out. He could start with a coffee. Or he could invite him for dinner into his club. Probably Greg wouldn’t like the Diogenes and be intimidated by its posh interior and even posher inhabitants. But where else could he go? Where would Greg go? Certainly, a dirty pub with restrooms the official places should have shut down yesterday.

He would like to meet Gregory Lestrade in private. He found him attractive, handsome even. He was a good man, did great work at Scotland Yard and had saved his brother's life several times already. And the most important fact was, by now he was finally divorced and Mycroft’s way was free.

He had spent many private hours wading through Lestrade’s private files. He found data about his school years, his wife, by now ex-wife, his career, his former band where he played the guitar and often even sang, too. His recent affairs. He had dug out some affairs with men but that had been years ago. He wondered, if he stood any chance at all being the person he was.

His thumb still hovered over the green button. Should he call or should he text? Like his brother he preferred to text. But it could be seen impersonal. And he didn’t want to appear all mighty. Not to him he didn't.  
Again, he let out a deep sigh without even noticing. Finally, he did press “call”.  
“Detective Inspector Lestrade!” A wonderful voice answered his call.  
“DI Lestrade, this is Mycroft Holmes speaking. I would like to ask you to come and see me for dinner tomorrow, if it’s convenient.” Then there was silence for a bit until Greg was able to speak.  
“Mr Holmes, that’s quite the surprise. About which case do you want to talk? Just asking, so I can bring the correct file.”  
“What? No!” Mycroft just blurted it out and had to close his eyes to concentrate.  
“Excuse me?” Greg said and was quite a bit irritated by this call.  
“I meant this as a private invitation. Just you and me having dinner. If you like. Only.” His voice became quieter by the word and he cursed himself.  
“Oh. I see. Yes. Tomorrow. Great. When? Where?” Greg stuttered.  
“Good. Great. 7.30 pm. My place.” Mycroft replied and heard Lestrade clear his throat.  
“Where is your place?” He asked and Mycroft could hear the grin in his words.  
“I’ll send a car at 7 pm to your office. Be ready.” He was more relaxed by now.  
“Can’t wait!” Greg sounded all cheery and hung up. Mycroft felt sweaty.  
“What did I do …” He closed his eyes and felt his knees weaken.

***

Greg stared at his mobile. This had been really weird. How come famous Mycroft had his mobile number?  
“So, he doesn’t want to talk about a case. Then he most surely wants to talk about Sherlock’s case or Sherlock himself. He bloody well knows I am not spying on him.” He chewed on his bottom lip, but then just mentally shrugged.  
“Anyway, I will be having a nice dinner with strange food from countries I have never even heard of with the fucking British Government.” Now Greg grinned looking forward to it.

***

Back home that day he checked on his clothes for the next day and found a rather nice suit he had only rarely worn. He even polished his shoes. When he was finally pleased, he poured a drink and sat on his sofa.  
“I am stupid. It’s probably really only about Sherlock, as usual. But anyway, I will be enjoying it.”  
Greg passed the next day in a very excited mood. He had brought his good suit on a hanger and inside a travel-bag, so it wouldn’t get crumpled and dirty if he had to go to a crime-scene.  
That’s why he was able to be ready right on time and now stood outside Scotland Yard in his best suit holding a bag with an extremely expensive bottle of wine he had bought to bring for dinner. He had to rely on the clerk in the store because he had no idea about wine. He had swallowed when paying but paid. He wanted to go.  
On spot the posh limousine arrived and the driver quickly got out to open the door for Greg.  
“Thanks.” Greg muttered and sat down. He gingerly placed the bag by his side and looked around. The divider was down and the driver sat behind the wheel.  
“Would you like a drink, DI Lestrade?” He asked looking into the rear-view mirror.  
“Um, yes?” Greg replied not knowing what to do or what was appropriate. A humming was heard and a mini-bar appeared right in front of him. His eyes widened and he grinned.  
“Please help yourself. Anything you need should be in there.” The divider rode up and the car started slowly. Greg looked at the offerings.  
“Bloody hell!” He muttered looking at the most expensive vodkas and whiskeys he had ever heard of. He chose a whiskey and leant back into the leather. He felt great and safe in here. He enjoyed the ride.  
And he arrived way too soon or so he thought. Quickly he put the tumbler back and licked his lips. His door was opened and he stood on the pavement holding on to the paper bag containing the wine. He looked around and found himself standing in front of an old Victorian manor. The traffic noise was barely heard and the street was rather empty.  
The driver pointed up the stairs to the entrance and took off again. Greg climbed up and looked for a door-bell. There wasn’t any bell but a rather large knocker formed like a lion's head instead. He used it and the sound vibrated through the wood. Soon enough the door was opened by an old butler. Greg had to suppress a laughing fit but managed. He was invited inside.  
“Please do come in, DI Lestrade. Mr Holmes is expecting you.” The man took his coat and then led Greg deeper into the house. Greg slowly followed and watched. This place was dark and reeked of power and man. He liked it.  
“Mr Holmes is in the library. Please.” Greg did enter and wondered why one person would have so many books. He gingerly stepped inside and looked around for Mycroft.  
“Detective Inspector, welcome to my place.” Suddenly there was his voice beside his ear and he made a quick step to the side.  
“Mr Holmes, you are too sneaky!” He blurted it out and it made Mycroft blush. Luckily the light was dimmed and only a fire shone in the fire-place.  
“And I believe we have been to DI Lestrade or even Greg, haven’t we?” He added.  
“Forgive me. Please sit down. And we sure have. Gregory.” Mycroft offered him another whiskey which he gladly took.  
“Please don’t call me Gregory. My mum did.” Mycroft smiled.  
“I like it.” He poured another drink for himself.  
“Well, I don’t. Myc.” Mycroft glared at him and looked a lot like his brother. Not that Greg would ever tell him.  
“Don’t do that.” Mycroft said adding ice-cubes into their drinks.  
“It will be Myc as long as you call me Gregory.” He was handed a tumbler and their fingers brushed.  
“We will see. Gregory.” Mycroft smiled.  
“Thank you, Myc.” Greg lifted his tumbler and kept looking around. Mycroft watched him looking around and wondered, if he liked his place. But he seemed to be fine, relaxed even. Perhaps he liked being around him?  
“So, why did you want to see me?” Greg suddenly addressed him.  
“Dinner.” Mycroft just said being very much surprised. He had been busy staring at Greg.  
“I beg your pardon?” Greg asked raising a brow. Mycroft cleared his throat.  
“I wanted to invite you for dinner. It’s what people do when they like each other, am I right?” He looked at Greg over the rim of his glass.  
“Yes, and if people accept the invite, it’s considered a good sign.” He reached out for him and gently placed his palm on his arm.  
“Relax, please? It’s only me.” His voice became a shade deeper.  
“Only you?” Mycroft asked incredulously.  
“Yes?” Greg shrugged. Mycroft stared at him. It could have been so simple. He never would have had to worry about this. He didn't know what to say.  
“Myc, what’s the problem? What do you want?” Mycroft dared and stood. Slowly he came closer.  
“Well, first I’d like to have dinner with you followed by wild and animalistic, probably kinky, sex. Also, with you.” Greg at first paled beneath his tan and then blushed. He cast his eyes and looked back up a second later.  
“I don’t know what to say …” He cleared his throat and downed his drink. He took the freedom to top it up himself. Mycroft followed him.  
Unfortunately, the butler appeared right then and Mycroft ushered Greg into the dining-room. Greg could only gape. The table was huge and he could only see Mycroft over the burning candles in the middle of it. It was too far away. So, when the butler and the maid, who had served the soup, had disappeared, he stood, took his plate and everything, and moved up to the right of him.  
“I couldn’t see you properly. Plus, I don’t want to shout when I am talking to you.” He sat back down. Mycroft stared. No one had ever done such a thing. Not even Sherlock, when he was younger and still living at home, had dared to do so.  
“But we are having a proper dinner. We are not supposed to talk.” Greg shrugged.  
“Why the hell not?” Mycroft shrugged, too.  
“I have absolutely no idea.” Then they both smiled and Mycroft relaxed. Greg once walked back to get his glass of wine and the rest of the cutlery. Both the maid and the butler looked absolutely shocked when coming back to get the bowls. Both looked at Mycroft who had arranged everything as neatly as he could. Greg grinned.  
“You know, this was the best dinner I had for a very long time.” Greg said when leaning back in his chair after the last spoon of chocolate pudding.  
“I completely agree, Gregory.” Greg tilted his head but smiled. Slowly Mycroft leant forward and licked some chocolate off Greg’s lips. Greg simply closed his eyes and didn’t move.  
“Let’s sit by the fire again, shall we?” Mycroft suggested and stood. Greg lazily opened his eyes.  
“Perfect!” He broadly smiled and followed him back. He was placed on the sofa and Mycroft joined him. He also brought drinks.  
“Are you planning on getting me drunk, Myc?” Greg asked.  
“No, not at all.” They stared at each other for a bit until Greg finally dared to ask.  
“Earlier you said something about kinky sex. What does that include?” Very slowly Mycroft tilted his head and moved closer.  
“It does involve several metres of rope, probably a gag and for sure your handcuffs for a start.” Mycroft looked almost greedy.  
“It does?” Greg almost choked on his drink and his voice was pitched higher than normal.  
“What did you expect?” Mycroft asked looking expectantly at him.  
“I don’t know.” Suddenly his eyes widened and he stared over Mycroft’s shoulder.  
“Does the kinky sex include a third party?” He kept staring and slowly stood. Mycroft raised a brow.  
“Excuse me? Surely not!” Now he stood and turned around as well. Then he sighed.  
“Crowley. What do you want?”  
“You could be more polite, you know? My established connection has been killed and I didn’t know whom to contact.” He slowly approached the bar and helped himself.  
“You already contacted my brother.” Mycroft said not being very pleased that Crowley had overridden his security planted by the finest British witches.  
“I contacted your brother to warn him about the Men of Letters. Now he has ganged up with the Winchesters and their bloody angel.” He sipped his drink and smiled.  
“This is the stuff.” He smiled at his glass and sat down in an armchair. Greg looked at him and then at Mycroft.  
“Who is this and how did he get in?” He asked stepping closer to Mycroft.  
“Your security clearance isn’t high enough. I am sorry, Gregory.” The man snorted and looked at Greg.  
“Please, this is getting ridiculous.” He stood again and lightly bowed.  
“The name is Crowley. King of Hell.” Greg gaped.  
“King of what? Are you kidding me?” Crowley snapped his fingers and a ball of fire appeared.  
“Not in here, Crowley!” Mycroft sounded angry but Crowley grinned. He threw the ball into the air and caught it again.  
“OK, what do you want?” Mycroft finally gave in because he wanted him to leave.  
“I need to make sure that the arrangement is still valid.” Mycroft tilted his head.  
“It is. Please go away now.” Crowley grinned.  
“You sound like your brother!” He vanished into thin air and Greg had to extinguish the fire-ball that had been left behind. This time it wasn't smelly. Even Crowley didn't want to anger Mycroft Holmes.  
“Bloody hell!” He exclaimed and Mycroft handed over another drink.  
“Exactly.” It became eerily quiet until Mycroft sighed.  
“Listen, I understand, if you want to leave now. This is all a bit weird.” He didn’t look at him.  
“Don’t just assume things. I don’t want to leave. I want to continue where we were when this guy appeared.”  
“Oh?” Mycroft both looked and sounded surprised. Greg approached him and just pulled him close.  
“Yes. Oh. So? Do you still want these?” He dangled his handcuffs in front of Mycroft’s face and made them clink.  
“Very much so.” He downed his drink, threw the glass on the sofa, and snatched the cuffs. His free hand grabbed Greg’s wrist.  
“Oi!” Greg shouted and tried to push him away but Mycroft was stronger than he had assumed. He kept holding him and turned him around so his arm was forced backwards. He got pushed forward and landed chest first on the sofa and it took only mere seconds until his wrists were cuffed on his lower back. Mycroft pulled him back and held him down.  
“Now we are getting somewhere!” He smirked.

***

Greg really was embarrassed. How could this ever have happened to him? Plus, it was Mycroft bloody Holmes who had done it. Bloody buggering fuck! He had completely underestimated him.  
Carefully he turned his head and looked up. He looked right into his smug face.  
“You know, my time doing the leg-work might be over, but I haven’t forgotten a thing.” He twirled his fingers into Greg’s hair and moved it around his fingers. Greg followed the pull and soon knelt on the plush carpet.  
“I plan to do some very wicked things to you, Gregory. Now tell me, do you consent?” Greg swallowed.  
“The last time I had sex with a man was a long time ago. Please don’t tear me apart.” His voice was rough.  
“I won’t, I promise. But I will fuck you. I will also kiss you and touch you. I might use other things on you.” They looked at each other and Mycroft made a little step forward so his groin almost touched Greg’s face.  
Greg closed his eyes and deeply inhaled. He was aroused, very much so. This was so not good. Was it?  
He slowly straightened up and shuffled closer. He dared and pressed his nose and mouth against the bulge in Mycroft’s trousers. He felt it twitch and the grip on his head became tight. Pain sparked over his head, but it was oh so good.  
Greg breathed open-mouthed against his trousers. Mycroft spread his legs and opened his flies. He pulled out his cock and let it dangle in front of Greg’s nose.  
Greg almost cross-eyed but licked his lips. It had been a long time since he had done this, but he clearly remembered what had been done to him and what he liked.  
“Go on, Gregory. Don’t make me lose my patience.” Mycroft widened his stance and Greg took the big head between his lips and started to suck. He licked around the head and had to open up wide. His jaw cracked and hurt already. He worked himself up and licked and finally was able to bop his head until he touched his throat. Greg swallowed and that elicited a feral noise from Mycroft. He repeated that until Mycroft pulled back.  
“I don’t want to end this too soon, Gregory.” His voice was low and rough and it made Greg’s spine tingle with lust.  
“Get up.” Greg stood and swayed for a second but Mycroft’s grip was strong. He was brought upstairs and it felt a bit like being arrested with his hands cuffed on his lower back. He was led right into Mycroft’s bedroom. It was dominated by a large four-poster with dark velvet curtains. It was beautiful and Greg loved it. The bed was probably as big as his bathroom at home.  
Mycroft pressed him against a post and kissed him senseless. He literally sucked his face off and Greg let him.  
When Greg was able to think again and also look straight, he was naked except for his jacket and shirt. Plus, the handcuffs were gone. How the fuck had that happened? Again, Mycroft looked way too smug.  
“If you need to stop me or are in need of a break, use the colours. Do you want to move on?” Mycroft asked and Greg looked up at him. Then he licked his lips and nodded.  
“Very green.” Both men smiled and Mycroft lowered his head and kissed him some more. While doing so he moved him over and against a wall. His arms were beside Greg's head. He was caging him in. Greg just let him do as he pleased and didn't even lift his arms to touch back. He just took. He submitted.  
“Stay.” He pressed another kiss on his lips and pushed up again. Greg watched him move over to a drawer. He came back with several lengths of rope and some other things.  
“Please get rid of your jacket, Gregory, and kneel for me.” Greg swallowed and quickly shed it. He lowered his body on the carpet and waited for Mycroft to proceed. His cock stood up and he was so very aroused, it almost hurt.  
“You are so beautiful like this ...” Mycroft whispered and moved his fingers through his hair. Greg closed his eyes and breathed open-mouthed. Only when Mycroft let go, he opened them again and their eyes met.  
“Get up and kneel on the bed. Back to the headrest.” Greg hurried to obey. Mycroft kept watching him.  
“Now get rid of your shirt. Slowly.” Greg did that, too. Now he was completely naked. And he knelt on Mycroft's bed. He couldn't but blush thinking about the situation. Mycroft smirked and still looked way too smug. His palm was flat on Greg's chest and gently pushed him backwards. Greg followed the move and Mycroft knelt by his side.  
Mycroft tied his calves to his thighs and spread his legs. He used only the ropes to do that. Greg was widely spread and everything was on display. He felt weird but Mycroft was so aroused; he thought it must be good.  
All the time he was on his elbows to watch and Mycroft let him. Only when he was done with his legs, he took his wrists and tied them to the headboard. To top everything, he pulled a blindfold over his eyes.  
“Colour, Gregory?” Greg licked his lips and needed a few seconds.  
“Green.”  
Greg tried to find a suitable position and shifted on his arse. This was a bit embarrassing. He knew Mycroft was watching him because he could still hear him. Strangely so he didn’t utter a word. Instead he gave him the time to come down a bit.  
And there he was, lowering his slim body on the mattress beside Greg. His hand moved over his chest and his palm rubbed over his nipples. Greg sharply inhaled and his spine tingled. He was aroused. Aroused and excited.  
Mycroft knew what he was doing. He stimulated several parts of Greg’s body at the same time and it felt as if he didn’t neglect one of them. He kissed him, rubbed his nipples, stroked his cock, and rutted slowly against his body until his cock was leaking steadily and he panted open-mouthed.  
“Please, Myc. I need more. Please?” Mycroft smiled.  
“There you are. I was wondering.” He sucked his lower lip making him groan.  
“I didn’t know what to do, what you wanted. I am sorry. I am not good at this …” He slowly moved his head over the pillow and blushed beneath his tan.  
“You are the best, Gregory.” He kissed him again and Greg relaxed. The next thing he felt was him moving between his spread legs and his finger between his cheeks. He tensed and twitched.  
“Sh, sh, it’s all fine. It will hurt for a moment, but I promise to make it better. Are you with me?” Greg just nodded and Mycroft pinched his thigh.  
“Ow!” Greg tried to pull away but couldn’t.  
“Words, please?” Mycroft quietly chided.  
“Yes, I am bloody with you!” Mycroft smirked and pinched his nipple. Greg leaked some more. Mycroft was very hard and enjoyed this a lot. He slicked up his cock, but then thought again. Greg had just told him; he hadn’t had penetrative sex for a long time. He needed to do this right and slowed down. Instead he slicked his hand and fingers and started to probe on his hole. It didn’t take long. Greg wanted this and he was quickly able to enter his body. Soon enough his finger stuck all the way in and Greg kept writhing on the mattress.  
“Please, please, please! How could I forget this? God, please? I need more, more of you. Just please?” Mycroft smiled.  
“I like you pleading for more. It sounds really very, very good.” His free hand moved over his flat stomach while he moved two fingers into him. Only then he repeatedly rubbed over his prostate and Greg panted.  
It took Mycroft more than half an hour of preparing until Greg was ready to take him. And the moment he breached him; he took off the ropes around his thighs. Greg loudly groaned and stretched his legs. Mycroft put one leg over his shoulder and pushed harder and faster.  
“You are so beautiful, Gregory! You are amazing!” Mycroft worshipped him and kept praising him while taking him. Greg smiled and Mycroft only had to look at the sight to come and spurt his cum into Greg’s willing body.  
He rested by his side and took off the blindfold and the ropes around his wrists. Greg groaned and blinked his eyes open.  
“Myc …” He smiled and looked very exhausted, tired even.  
“Gregory …” Mycroft kissed him and Greg stretched his neck to keep in contact.  
“You haven't come.” Mycroft was confused. Why hadn't Greg come? Wasn't he good enough? Why? He just acted on instinct and took his cock which still sat very hard on his thigh. Greg hissed and it twitched. Very slowly Mycroft moved his hand and stroked him until Greg was shaking beneath him. Only then he lowered his head and took him between his lips. He only once sucked and Greg screamed his name. He violently came and Mycroft extended the feeling for him by stroking and touching, licking, and sucking him through his orgasm. And only when he was empty their eyes met again. Greg licked his lips.  
“This was the best sex I ever had …” Mycroft looked rather smug.  
“Thank you, Detective Inspector. I appreciate your tender words.” Greg grinned and Mycroft melted.  
“Do you have something to drink up here?” He asked with a rather rough voice.  
“Yes, of course.” Mycroft rolled around and opened the night-stand at his side. He retrieved a cooled bottle of water and a bar of chocolate. Greg greedily eyed it and moved himself up against the headrest. He hissed and pulled a face.  
“God, I only forgot how awful this part is …” Mycroft looked a bit worried now.  
“Perhaps you would like to take a bath?” He offered and Greg looked surprised.  
“Really? I’d like that!” Mycroft rolled out of bed and moved over into the en-suite. He used some foam and wondered, if Greg would come and see him again. Soon enough he stood right there and looked.  
“Wow, this is amazing!” He lowered his beautiful body into the water and moaned. Then he looked up.  
“Won’t you?” Mycroft really looked surprised. No one had ever asked him to take a bath together. But then he smiled and nodded.

***

Sherlock still was a bit pissed because of Castiel’s interest in his Captain. Perhaps he needed to contact the King of Hell himself to ask for some weapons to keep angels off his flat. He wasn’t sure if Google could be of enough assistance. OK, if he really thought about it, he could just ask his brother. He knew by now, that he knew the Men of Letters. So, if he knew them, he for sure knew about other stuff. He grinned when an image of very ruffled wings rushed through his mind.  
Pleased with himself he adjusted his microscope and kept examining the one feather they had found. Fortunately, it had been brought back by Castiel. It definitely wasn’t from a bird. He sighed. This would lead to nothing.  
“John? John!” There was no reply. Sherlock looked up and around.  
“Oh, right. He told me he was going to Tesco. Tedious.” Sherlock muttered something nasty, but then thought about milk and cookies and the nosh John would surely buy. He smiled. Then his stomach rumbled rather loudly.  
“Probably too much sex, even without actually being penetrated. I need to look into this some more.” He ended his work and stood. He stretched his slim body and walked over to the large window looking out at Baker Street.  
He saw John approach with two bags. Sherlock smiled and his expression was a happy one. But then his face darkened. There was that bloody angel again, appearing out of nothing. John almost stumbled but didn’t. He didn’t look very amused though and Sherlock smirked. Castiel seemed to say something because John looked to the side. Quickly Sherlock hid when John looked up. He didn’t see him though.  
Sherlock glared around the curtain. What he saw did not amuse him. Castiel ushered John into Speedy’s café downstairs. What did that angel want from his John? He had to find out.

***

Downstairs John found himself at a table opposite of Castiel. He had bought him a piece of cake and tea. He really was surprised. And he was also curious, because he wondered what he wanted. He enjoyed the cake though.  
Castiel kept looking at John and tried to find out why he was drawn to that human being. It almost felt like Dean but didn’t. It was weird. Plus, he liked the fact that John didn’t seem to mind him watching. He couldn’t know that John was used to that because Sherlock did it all the time.  
“What do you want, Castiel?” John finally asked when he was done with the cake.  
“I really don’t know.” He carefully shrugged and kept looking directly at John out of those big eyes.  
“I can’t help you then, can I?” John said and sat back against the chair. He was getting a bit nervous but didn't show.  
“I suppose not. But I am convinced, you aren’t the average human.” John raised his brow.  
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He smiled saying so and it made Castiel smile as well. Suddenly there was a mobile ringing. Castiel’s face lightened up.  
“That’s mine.” He pulled it out from the depths of his trench coat and looked at the display holding it up for John to see.  
“It’s Dean. He is calling me.” He beamed at the mobile.  
“If you like him calling, you should answer.” Castiel’s finger swiped over the display.  
“Yes? Dean?” Excited chatter was heard and Castiel kept listening.  
“No, I am with John. Yes. No. Why? OK.” And he ended the call. He looked at John and slowly stood.  
“Dean wants me to come back to the hotel. It was nice talking to you. See you, John.” He looked rather serious.  
“Yes, see you, Castiel. And thanks for the cake.” Slowly John stood and watched him leave. He picked up his bags and entered 221B. He opened the door and saw Sherlock standing by the window. And he was glaring at him. John sighed.  
“Yes, I know. I’ll go and wash my hands.” Sherlock’s eyes slanted.  
“You’d better take a shower!” Actually, John really could have one and just nodded. Perhaps he would even take a bath. He started to unpack his shopping, but Sherlock made him move with a delicate twist of his wrist.  
“I’ll do it.” He didn’t even look at him. John was secretly amused that Sherlock was so jealous. It was sweet.  
“Thank you, love. I appreciate it.” Sherlock muttered something nasty, but John just disappeared. Sherlock looked at his retreating form and sighed. He should have happily welcomed him home. Instead he made him go away again. He sighed some more. He had no idea how to do it right. He only knew, he didn’t like Castiel close to John.  
But what about John? Sherlock wondered if John liked Castiel, if he liked his company. He sighed again and stored the goods away. While doing so, he wondered why he was sighing so much. It felt like being weak.  
It seemed like John wanted to cook dinner tonight instead of ordering take-away. Again, Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes right after. He was supposed to set up the table and help. He always liked the result of John’s cooking though. He also liked the sitting together at the kitchen-table, the talks and the candle-light. He always relaxed and felt much better. And he even ate more than he normally would.  
Right now, he felt rather bad because he had been pissed with John. That’s why he waited until John had settled. He poured a glass of wine and knocked on the door.  
“Yes, come in, love.” Sherlock had to close his eyes for a second. This was still so new and John was still nice to him, even though he sometimes or rather lately had behaved a bit not good. He pushed open the door.  
“John, I came to say sorry. Here, have a glass of wine.” John looked surprised.  
“Why are you telling me sorry?” He looked up at him and took the glass. Sherlock sat on the edge.  
“Because I wasn’t very nice to you when you came home. I was jealous again. I saw you with that feathered monstrosity. And instead of just being happy when you returned and smile at you, I sent you away.” Now John smiled. He found it rather cute.  
“You really don’t have to worry. I wasn’t pissed or anything. We are good, Sherlock.” Sherlock visibly relaxed and stood again.  
“I’ll be setting up the table now. Please relax some more.” John smiled up at him and Sherlock beamed. John only shook his head after Sherlock had left. He often wondered about his experiences or his non-existing experiences. The self-consciousness was sometimes hard and complicated, but it would just take some time.  
John sighed and finished his wine. He hummed and closed his eyes. He kept soaking for a bit until he finally left the warmth. He dressed into something comfy he had brought in before and combed his hair.  
Outside he found Sherlock at the kitchen-counter sorting through John’s shopping. John could see that he had found the things he wanted to use tonight. He had even started to chop the vegetables for the Bolognese. John was a bit surprised, he had to admit that.  
“Hey, you have started already.” He joined him and looked at the slices Sherlock had made. It looked like from a kitchen-machine. Water was boiling already, too, and everything sat ready for John to use.  
“Is this good?” Sherlock asked and John just nodded.  
“It’s perfect. Thanks a lot. It leaves almost nothing for me to do.”  
“You already went shopping.” Sherlock wiped away some tears from the onion-cutting.  
“Here, let me. Wash your hands, love. I can’t see you crying.” He shoved him away and Sherlock smiled. He turned around and washed his hands in the sink. Then he blew his nose. He turned around drying his hands and watched John who seemed to be completely unaffected by the onions.  
Soon dinner was ready and they sat down. Sherlock really was hungry and even took a second helping. John raised a brow.  
“You are an energy-sucker, John.” John almost choked on some pasta and coughed. He quickly took a napkin.  
“What?” He looked at Sherlock who seriously nodded.  
“Yes, you are. Since we are having the sex, I need to eat more and more, get fuel into my transport.” Now John even blushed.  
“Are you complaining I am tiring you out?” He carefully asked and it made Sherlock look up.  
“No, I am stating the obvious.” Sherlock smiled tilting his head and John relaxed again.  
“And I have just refuelled.” He licked his lips. John felt something stir.  
“Is that so?” John’s voice was a tone deeper than normal. He slowly stood and moved over to Sherlock.  
“Yes?” Sherlock looked up and his lips stood a bit apart. John palmed his face and kissed him. While doing so he sat on his lap and straddled him. Sherlock slung his long arms around John’s broad frame and pulled him close. Their tongues moved together for a long time, touched, and licked and sucked, slow and fast.  
“Bedroom …” John roughly whispered and stood between his legs. Sherlock quickly stood and leant down for more kisses.  
“Hm …” John hummed and closed his eyes. Then he pushed him off and pulled him into the bedroom. He pushed him on the bed and moved over him. Finally, he sat on his groin and started to rut.  
“I will make you scream …” John pressed his hands flat on Sherlock’s still clad chest and his thumbs moved over his nipples. He hoped for some real sex today, but he would never push him if he didn't want it.  
“Why?” Both John and Sherlock stared at each other because Sherlock hadn’t spoken. John’s head shot around.  
“What?” He asked looking at Castiel who sat on Sherlock’s desk-chair.  
“You?” Sherlock almost shouted and threw John off who landed on his back by his side. Sherlock quickly rolled out of bed.  
“Get out of my bloody bedroom!” He approached him and tried to stare him down, but it didn’t work.  
“No. I need to talk to John.” Castiel replied and didn’t budge a bit.  
“We were quite busy. Go away!” Castiel wasn’t very impressed and just stared up at Sherlock until his mobile rang. He pulled it out and answered it.  
“Hi, Dean. No. Baker Street. No. Don’t worry. I am not … Nothing stupid.” Sherlock was able to hear Dean talking rather rudely and he snatched the mobile out of Castiel's hand.  
“He is lying. He just appeared right in my bedroom while I was about to be shagged by Dr Watson. Please come over and pick him up. And mostly, keep him away.” Then he just ended the call and dropped the mobile in Castiel’s lap.  
Castiel in the meantime had looked at John who looked a bit confused. Their eyes met and John again felt weird.  
“What did you want from me? We have just talked a few hours ago.” He asked and willed his arousal away.  
“I just felt the urge to see you. It felt like I was needed.” John had no idea what to say to that. But Sherlock had.  
“Well, if you didn’t want us to have a threesome, there is no bloody reason to be needed for right now.”  
“Threesome?” Castiel looked at Sherlock.  
“Sex. The three of us. Together.” Sherlock replied and was getting angrier by the second.  
“Um, no. Not a threesome.” Castiel was clearly embarrassed. Sherlock decided to call his brother as soon as possible to ask for protection against angels.  
Suddenly there was a noise outside and Castiel stood. A long, metallic, and very pointy object suddenly was in his right.  
“Stand back.” He rushed outside and Sherlock wanted to follow but was held back by John.  
“No, don’t.” The grip around Sherlock’s thin wrist was tight and painful, but he didn’t complain. Both men turned their heads towards the door when Castiel’s voice boomed through the room.  
“Don’t do this!” Then there was the sound of air being sucked out of something. Neither man was able to describe it. Things crashed and they heard fists connecting with flesh. Also grunts and groans. And finally, a very shrill sound that hurt both their ears. Then there were steps coming closer. John stood and protected Sherlock who looked over his head. The door was opened and there was Castiel. He was bleeding through his shirt and his face was bruised.  
“What the fuck just happened there?” John asked.  
“Another angel.” He delivered no other explanation and Sherlock wasn’t very pleased.  
“I’d appreciate your fights taking place somewhere else, Castiel.”  
“I did not plan this.”  
“If you wouldn’t hang around John so much, we wouldn’t be disturbed by your enemies. You know, I have enough enemies myself. I don’t need yours on top.” John in the meantime had taken his med-kit from the bath and approached Castiel.  
“Let me have a look, please?” Castiel looked at John at once.  
“I am fine. You don’t have to worry.” Sherlock looked at John and wondered about what to do when John touched Castiel.  
“You were stabbed and are covered in blood.” John stated and reached out for him but Castiel was faster.  
“See?” He quickly opened his shirt and there weren’t any wounds.  
“Such a shame …” Sherlock muttered and left the bedroom to see what was outside. He found another dead angel and this time right inside his living-room.  
“Such a good opportunity …” At once he gathered gloves and crime-scene supplies. He knelt by the body and cut, poked, and touched. He filled several bags and containers. He was a happy man.  
He didn’t react when it knocked and both Sam and Dean entered his flat. He simply ignored them.  
“Oh fuck!” Dean said staring at Sherlock from behind. Sam just turned around and shook his head. Sherlock didn't even realise he was naked. And even if, it didn't matter to him. The work mattered and the opportunity to examine this angel was just perfect.  
“Where is Cas?” Dean asked swallowing. It was a rather nice thing to look at, Sherlock's body was. His pupils dilated.  
“Bedroom with John.” Sherlock acidly replied and it made Dean raise a brow. Then he just walked over and entered.  
“What happened here?” Sam slowly came closer and knelt opposite of Sherlock.  
“Your angel seemed to have killed this one. He didn’t explain anything.” Sam sighed and started to examine the corpse.  
“The skin is different.” That statement made Sherlock look up.  
“Different how? Different from what?” He asked and stared at Sam.  
“Normally their skin feels human because they are just inhabiting a human vessel, but this is tight and white and shiny somehow..” Sam looked confused.  
“Elaborate, please?” Sam nodded.  
“Sure. I mean, they take over a human body, using it as a meat-suit, a vessel, but normally never without consent.” Sherlock was intrigued. You could talk rather well to this one. He seemed to be more intelligent than his brother.  
“Plus, this one didn’t leave feathers. No real feathers and none scarred into the ground. But your angel said it had been another angel. He should know, shouldn’t he?”  
“That’s true. It’s all wrong.” Both men stood.  
“I will call my brother to get rid of this.” Sam looked surprised.  
“He can do such a thing?” Sam asked.  
“He can do many things. He has a lot of connections.” Only then Sam thought of handing over a blanket that had hung over the sofa. Sherlock took it and slung it around his body. He didn't even blush. The work had been more important than men staring at his body. It was just transport anyway. And now both men looked at the bedroom-door.

***

Inside the bedroom Dean stared at Castiel who stared right back. John stood by the door and watched them.  
“Explain this right now, Cas.” Dean said pointing at John.  
“I can’t.”  
“What about the one outside?” John asked.  
“I have no idea.” Castiel looked almost desperate.  
“So, you have just killed someone, you didn’t even know. And you also didn’t know what he even wanted?” John sounded shocked.  
“This is so not good, Cas!” Dean shook his head.  
“But he wanted to attack. His weapon was drawn and he threatened me with it.” Castiel said looking between them.  
“I will talk to Sherlock and we should meet up to talk about everything. Your case. Our case. Everything. You, Castiel, could think about the you and me thing in the meantime. Until further notice, please go away.” John looked dead serious. Castiel slowly stood. Then he placed his sword or whatever you might call the thing on the desk.  
“I will leave with Sam and Dean. Please keep this to defend yourself just in case there is another attack. It might happen eventually.” John nodded.  
“Thank you.” Dean shoved Castiel out of Sherlock’s bedroom and John followed suit.  
Outside they found Sam and Sherlock bent over the coffee-table reading some papers and looking at the computer.  
“Sam? Let’s go.” Dean just said and looked at him. Sam looked up and he raised a brow. A silent conversation took place and finally Sam looked at Sherlock again.  
“Call me?” Sherlock looked at him.  
“As soon as I know.” He looked rather pleased John thought. He only wondered how Sherlock had bonded with Sam. It was interesting and he needed to find out. They watched the three men, well, one angel and two men, leave and John closed the door leaning against it.  
“Well, that was something, wasn’t it?” He looked up at Sherlock who came closer and caged him in leaning against the door and holding up himself with his arms beside John’s head. He lowered his head and kissed him.  
“You know, you were naked all the time, don't you?” John stilled and became quite tense.  
“I was?” He asked swallowing heavily and Sherlock nodded.  
“I am at least clad in a blanket. See?” And right he was. John dutifully nodded. Sherlock wouldn't tell that he had been only given the blanket the last minute. He hadn't even thought about getting dressed. He smirked.  
“I didn't even notice. It's all so weird. I am sorry … I didn't mean to ...” He slowly shook his head.  
“I know. I love you. Never mind that damn angel.” Sherlock roughly whispered the words into John's ear.  
John hummed and closed his eyes. He slung his arms around Sherlock’s slim hips and pulled him close. Soon enough they were back in the bedroom. They were rolling over the mattress with John ending on top.  
“So, you like Sam, don’t you?” Sherlock tensed.  
“No more than you like Castiel.” John pecked a kiss on his nose.  
“That’s not what I meant and you know it. You prefer him to Dean. Why?” He licked over his cheekbone.  
“He is intelligent. He asks the right questions. Plus, he thinks before he speaks.” Sherlock grinned up.  
“I see. You think Dean is a brainless cretin?” He sucked his lower lip.  
“Hm … I wouldn’t use that exact words, but I think he doesn’t talk much. Instead he shoots first.” John quietly laughed.  
“Yes, I think so, too. Anyway, now that we are finally alone …” He kept kissing Sherlock and finally was able to peel him out of the blanket.  
“John, I want it. I want you. Now. Inside me.” He looked up at him and John returned the stare.  
“Are you sure?” He asked rather roughly. And Sherlock nodded.  
“Absolutely. I want you. I need to know it. Before you. I mean. Just in case.” He bit his lips.  
“What do you mean?” John was absolutely clueless.  
“You might want to know how an angel feels beneath you.” John threw himself to the side and covered his eyes with his arm.  
“I would never betray you. I admit, I am fascinated by him. But I love you, only you. Don't you believe me?”  
“I needed to hear it. He is so, I don't know what he is and what he wants, and it drives me mad!” Sherlock sounded angry, so angry. John turned around to face him again.  
“Do you trust me?” His big blue eyes looked at him.  
“Yes, I do. Always. Absolutely.” A small smile tugged on his lips and it was enough for John.  
He started to prepare him. Sherlock had pointed to his night-stand and there was lube. He had been prepared for quite some time. John smiled and started to finger him open.  
Right after John had pushed into him Sherlock asked:  
“Why do you like Castiel?” John groaned and pinched a nipple making him yelp.  
“Like is such a strong word for more than a bit of sympathy. I am not sure what I feel when he is around though.”  
“Your reply isn’t enough, John.” Sherlock clawed into his arms and John started the fuck-fest.  
“Perhaps these answers are …”

***

After a while they rested on their backs in Sherlock’s bed. Both men were panting and grinned madly.  
“I love you …” Sherlock said turning his head to look at John. John reached out for him and took his hand.  
“There is no reason at all to get jealous. Do you hear me?” He pulled his hand up and kissed his knuckles.  
“Yes, I do. I really do.” Sherlock blushed when his stomach rumbled. John grinned.  
“I think we are having some left-overs.” He looked at Sherlock.  
“I don’t want to get up! I don’t want to heat them up!” He groaned behind his arm that rested over his eyes.  
“Oh love, you know I’ll do it for you. Just stay.” John rolled out of bed and made a bee-line through the bath.  
“Bring a drink, too!” Sherlock called out languidly stretching his body.  
“What was that?” John asked from the kitchen.  
“Please?” Sherlock smiled and he heard John giggle. But he brought him his drink.  
“There you are, love. Enjoy!” Sherlock sat up holding his drink.  
“You are the best.” He sipped and looked over the edge of the glass at John.  
“I will remind you of that soon enough.” He left again for the kitchen to get some left-overs ready.  
“John?” Sherlock called out after some minutes. John sighed and went back into the bedroom.  
“Yes? What is it?” Sherlock sat straight up and held his mobile ready.  
“I should call Myc to dispose of the body, shouldn’t I?” They looked at each other.  
“God, I didn’t even think about it anymore. It was there all the time. On the hardwood.” John rubbed his forehead.  
“It doesn’t matter, does it? He didn’t disturb us.” Sherlock grinned but John didn’t. Instead he kept looking at Sherlock and finally sat down on the bed.  
“I am sorry. This is all a bit weird, too weird for my taste.” He closed his eyes and kept rubbing.  
“Do you want me to get the migraine-stuff from your bag?” Sherlock quietly asked feeling sorry.  
“No, it’s all fine. I just feel so tired out.” Now he fell backwards and nuzzled into Sherlock’s skin. He sighed.  
Sherlock rolled over him and kissed his head.  
“Stay. I’ll take care of our snack and more drinks. Sit against the headrest and just wait. I’ll be right back.” Sherlock got up and put on his dressing-gown.  
“Huh.” John made a weird sound he sometimes made when not having really listened. Sherlock smiled at him over his shoulder.  
In the kitchen he took care of their left-overs and poured another drink. Returning into his bedroom he saw that John had moved up against the headrest.  
“There you are. Have a drink. You look like you need it.” John thankfully took it.  
“Thanks, love. I really do.” He sipped it and closed his eyes in delight.  
Now Sherlock opened a bottle of wine and washed out two dusty glasses. He poured one for himself and another one for John. He also checked on their food and found it hot enough. He filled two small plates and brought everything over into their bedroom using a wooden tray. He climbed back into bed shedding his gown and pulling up the blanket. John had almost finished his drink and looked at him.  
“This is nice. It feels like a picnic.” He looked sleepy. Sexy. Drowsy. Sherlock loved it, loved that look.  
They finished their snacks and rested side by side drinking their wine. Once and again they turned their heads smiling.  
No more angels disturbed them.


	5. Special Angels

“So, what does the bloody lore say about those bleeding angels?” Dean asked kneeling in front of the mini-bar in their hotel-room.  
“Nothing at all. And please don’t eat all that crap from the bar. It does cost a fortune, Dean. Go to a supermarket like a normal person.” Sam scolded him. Dean snorted and kicked it closed.  
“Cas?” He looked at their angel who sat on the one and only armchair in their room.  
“There is no lore about these abominations.” It was his only comment.  
“Yeah, but you know about them and you called them angels.” Sam seriously said.  
“We were told about them, about their existence. Until now I have never seen one. Not to speak of having killed one.” Castiel stared at the TV where a stupid game-show was on.  
“But you knew they could be killed.” Dean said sitting on the bed.  
“I assumed it and I tried.” Sam rolled his eyes.  
“Well …” Dean said and opened a bottle of beer. Sam decided to go shopping and just left.  
“Well what?” Castiel knew Dean’s different voices very well and it hadn’t sounded too good.  
“Now you are going to tell me why you appeared in Sherlock’s and John’s bedroom.” Castiel shrugged.  
“It was a certain urge I felt. It suddenly overwhelmed me. I just needed to go because I thought John needed me.” Castiel almost looked helpless when answering and looking at Dean.  
“What do you feel about John Watson?” Dean simply asked. He wasn’t jealous. No, not really.  
“I feel like having a connection with him, like he is family. I am not sure. I only know, I have never met him before.”  
“So, you actually feel the same for him like you do for me?” Dean stared at him slowly sipping his beer. His voice made Castiel look up.  
“You can’t compare that, Dean. You and I are different. We have a past. You are my brother. John is something else. I do feel some power radiating off of him.” Now Dean stood.  
“I am your brother. Well." He sounded rather pissed when going on.  
"I may not radiate anything, but I have my weapons.” He finished his beer.  
“Screw you, Cas!” He hissed at him, grabbed his leather jacket, and left the room.  
“Dean!” Castiel stood and called after him, but Dean just left. Castiel’s head fell and he closed his eyes.

***

Angrily Dean stomped away and out of the hotel. He fumed. He wanted more to drink. He wanted a proper bar, something to eat, preferably burger and cake for dessert, and perhaps even a good shag. He wondered where to go, but then just started to walk. He never had had problems getting in contact with girls.  
Only after a few minutes a sleek black car slowly rode up by his side and a tinted window was lowered.  
“Mr Winchester?” Dean turned his head and his green eyes shone. God, what a woman!  
“Yes, that’s me.” He grinned and stepped closer to the car.  
“Please enter the car. Mr Holmes would like to talk to you.” Now Dean raised a brow and scowled.  
“I have just left the bloody prick!” Her face didn’t show a reaction, but she very quietly sighed.  
“That was Mr Holmes the younger. Please?” She pushed the door open and Dean was way too curious to deny her. Plus, she looked amazing with that long, wavy, thick hair and the dark eyes. So, he just shrugged and sat down. The car deeply purred and drove off.  
“I have heard, he has a brother. What does he want?” She kept typing on her mobile and didn’t look at him.  
“He wants to talk to you about the matter at hand. Angels, Men of Letters, his brother. Now please don’t ask any more questions I won’t or can’t answer. We are about to arrive. Please only start talking after you have reached Mr Holmes’ office.” The car stopped and the door was opened by a freaking penguin. Dean smirked but was eager to know what Sherlock’s brother wanted. So, he played the game and entered the shiny white and very posh building.  
He slowly followed the penguin looking from right to left and back. He wasn’t intimidated, not at all, but he felt wrong in here. This wasn’t his place.  
In front of him a door was opened and the penguin made an inviting gesture. Dean entered some sort of office where a ginger haired man leaned against an old wooden desk. He looked up upon Dean entering.  
“Mr Winchester. My name is Mycroft Holmes. I am Sherlock’s brother. We need to talk.” He stood to his full height but Dean wasn’t a small man. He looked him right into the eyes.  
“I have met your brother. He is an arrogant prick.” Mycroft outright laughed and it surprised Dean.  
“You are right. Anyway, I’d like to talk about the deaths of certain members of the British Men of Letters.” Mycroft relaxed. Dean Winchester was as easy to read as John Watson. He could work with that.  
“Yeah, we killed them. So what? Lady Bitch was torturing my brother and me. Your Mr Ketch did kill our buddy Mick who had just stood up against the bloody Headmistress. The bloody Headmistress had a deal running with the King of Hell. What do you expect? We are hunters. We kill evil shit. That’s what happened. Any problems?” Dean was still very angry about the whole business; mainly because his mother had gone rogue and was now stuck with Lucifer in the other dimension. He actually wondered, if this guy knew about it. He probably did.  
“You should know, that I am actually rather thankful for the elimination of Dr Hess. Crowley already asked for the one following up her job. I have yet no idea though.” Dean was rather surprised.  
“Well, don’t do it or you’ll lose your soul.” Mycroft quietly snorted as if he wanted to say it was too late anyway.  
He looked at Dean more closely who just kept eyeing his bar and finally offered him a drink. He also pointed over to the armchairs and the sofa by the fire-place. Dean nodded and began to feel good.  
Mycroft actually poured drinks all by himself without ringing for assistance. Of course, he knew what Dean liked and wanted and he handed over the tumbler. He only hoped he wouldn’t break the crystal.  
Very carefully Dean took the drink. It was being poured into a beautiful glass, nothing like the water-glasses from the bathroom of their dingy hotel-rooms he was used to. It had become a lot better since living in the bunker though. He smiled up at Mycroft.  
“Thanks.” And he really meant it. Mycroft was glad, that he was relaxed now and felt good in his company. Now he was able to proceed.  
“I know the former Headmistress did not agree with your methods.” Mycroft carefully started to talk.  
“What methods?” Dean was clueless but really enjoyed the whiskey.  
“I understood, that you helped saving several individuals from being killed even though they weren’t human anymore, such as werewolves or vampires.” Mycroft sipped, too.  
“Are you referring to Benny, for instance? He gave his life for us!” Dean sat up and Mycroft soothed him at once.  
“I am not arguing about it. It’s all fine with me. At the end only the results matter. And your results are perfect. The way the British Men of Letters have approached the US hunters was the wrong one. Lady Bevell has overstepped and she has paid for that already.” Dean grinned up at him.  
“She sure has.” Mycroft really started to like him. If he only would be more sophisticated, he could have been a wonderful double-oh agent. Instead he just topped up their drinks.  
“I also heard about the whole Lucifer business.” Dean cast his eyes being at once reminded of his mother.  
“Yes, it didn’t go so well.” He downed his drink and held up his tumbler. Mycroft just gave him another refill.  
“I am sorry about your mother.” He angrily looked up at him. Good.  
“She is not dead!” Mycroft shook his head.  
“She surely isn’t.” They looked at each other and finally Dean asked the question of the day.  
“What do you want, Mr Holmes?”

***

“I want intel about the angel having been found in my brother’s living-room. Your angel has killed him or so I have heard.” Dean nodded.  
“Yeah, he appeared right into their bedroom and your brother wasn’t very amused. But he defended them or more John, I think. Castiel said, he just felt the urge to appear. I have no idea what’s going on inside his head.”  
“I bet Sherlock really wasn’t very amused.” Mycroft was though.  
“I wasn’t very amused, as well. I don’t understand what’s happening or why he feels so drawn to your brother’s boy-friend.”  
“Has it happened before? Did Castiel bond with someone?” Dean thought for a minute and then grinned.  
“Yes, well. He once shagged a girl but she turned out to be a demon and almost tortured him to death after taking his virginity. She was his first shag. She is dead, of course.” He shrugged and thought some more.  
“Sadly, I don’t think so. I mean, except for me. We were close at once. I liked him. He was so authentic and wanted to do good so much.” Dean smiled; he really did.  
“Is he still good?” The question made Dean raise a brow.  
“Yes, he is. Even after having been possessed by Lucifer and filled up with black goo, he always came back to us. He is a good man. Angel. You know, what I mean.” Mycroft nodded.  
“Yes, I think I do.” He looked thoughtful. Again, they looked at each other.  
“What do you want? Do you need our help? Are you in need of some hunters to do a proper kill? We also know something about witches and such?” Dean offered and it made Mycroft grin.  
“No, I wanted to get to know you. By now I believe, I can trust you. What I really want to know is why you came over to Great Britain to follow the trace of killed angels.” Mycroft sounded more serious by now.  
“Cas was getting restless because we weren't able to find anything in the lore back home. Plus, the first killings in the US were friends of Castiel.” Dean shrugged and topped up his drink himself.  
“He wanted us to come over here to find out more. He thought the source, the reason, was here. But so far, we haven’t found anything but a feather, fresh killings, a horrible traffic and your bloody brother.”  
“I might be able to help you.” Mycroft looked smug and somehow Dean liked him more and more.  
“How?” He simply asked. Mycroft liked that.  
“As you may have guessed, I am a bit involved into the mystery business. I knew the former Headmistress and I know Mr Ketch. Lady Bevell I had no idea of, unfortunately. I did know though about Dr Hess' deal with Hell. As mentioned before, Crowley already asked if the agreement still stands.”  
“And does it?” Dean was curious to find out.  
“I am not sure yet. So far, the cooperation was productive in many ways. The future has to show us how we will proceed.” Dean looked like his brain had stopped working.  
“You sound like a fucking politician.” Mycroft grinned.  
“I am a fucking politician. I occupy a minor position in the British government.” Dean laughed loudly.  
“Minor my arse!” Both men laughed and had another drink.

***

Sam found Dean gone and Castiel in a non-responsive mood. He decided to explore a bit and went outside. He actually walked along the Thames, took a few pictures, and rather enjoyed playing tourist. He didn’t want to bother Sherlock so soon again even though he would have liked to.  
When his cell dinged with a text alert, he thought it was Dean. It was Sherlock though.

_“John is at work. We could continue what we have started?”  
SH_

Sam grinned. Nicely worded. He had felt the sparks between them and so had Sherlock.

_“On my way.”  
Sam_

Again, he took the tube and prayed for a fast ride. He bloody hated it but bore it stoically. He entered 221B and climbed up the stairs taking two at a time. Upstairs he knocked.  
“Come in!” Sherlock called out and Sam pushed open the door. The scent of freshly brewed tea hit his nose and he walked over to the fire-place and the two armchairs in front of it.  
“Have a seat, please.” Sherlock pointed over to John’s armchair and placed a tray with mugs, tea-pot and cookies by the side.  
“This is nice, thank you.” He looked at him and their eyes met. Sam felt like being hit by a rock. But did Sherlock feel the same? He didn’t want to mess this up. It was too good.  
He took the opportunity to brush over his fingers when being handed his cup but Sherlock didn’t react.  
Damn! Had he only imagined the sexual tension between them? He needed to try something more. But at first, he drank the tea. It was very good. Suddenly Sherlock looked up, stared at him for a second and started to talk.  
“I hope, you didn’t want to prod the dead angel because I have disposed of it already.” But Sam shook his head.  
“No, I really didn’t. That wasn’t the reason I came back.” He placed the empty cup back on the saucer and opened the first two buttons of his shirt. Only then he stretched and leant back into the chair. His naked chest was showing; his naked and very muscular chest with a tattoo on top. Sherlock swallowed. It was quite the sight but he already had a chest to touch and look at. And it belonged to one Dr John Watson who wouldn’t be very amused about this.  
On the other hand, what he didn’t know … Unconsciously Sherlock licked his lips and Sam tilted his head so his hair fell half over his face.  
Sherlock may be new to all the flirting stuff and the sex thing, but he very well understood what Sam was up to. And why not explore something? He had texted him already, hadn't he? Yes, he had because he had felt it, too. The spark between them.  
And he did love John, but he could at least touch this fine specimen, couldn’t he? See, if it felt different. Explore some more with someone not too important.  
Plus, he really had initiated this, hadn't he? He had sent the text that could have been understood both ways. And here he was, Sam had been answering. And he had just said he didn't want to prod the angel's corpse. Obviously, he wanted to prod something else. Someone else. Sherlock swallowed, but then made a decision.  
He slowly stood placing his cup on the saucer and sauntered over. He knew very well how he looked and he liked the way how Sam looked at him now. He admired him, his beauty, his body. Him. It felt good.  
Well, John did this, too, but this was different. Sam was someone else who openly showed his admiration. Sherlock wasn't used to it. He knew, people liked to look at him, but normally they never took the step. But this was an American, plus he was a hunter. Different then. Interesting.  
Sherlock wondered how his skin felt beneath his fingers and how his hair smelled. He slowly lowered his head and moved his nose over his head. He didn’t touch him though.  
Sam didn’t move. He didn’t want to spoil this. But when Sherlock didn’t initiate anything, he raised his arms and grabbed him by his hips. He pulled him down and on his lap.  
“Hey handsome!” He smiled up at him and Sherlock returned the smile.  
“Hey yourself. You smell good.” This sounded almost animalistic but Sam somehow liked it. His fingers brushed over Sherlock’s still clad body.  
“I do hope so.” Sam smiled. He really was a bit weird.  
“We have exactly one hour to explore. Do you want to proceed?” Sherlock asked all serious.  
“God, yes.” Sam whispered back. Sherlock stood and pulled Sam along over to the sofa. Sam actually didn’t want to be pushed down, so he took over and shoved Sherlock down and on his back. Sherlock huffed but grinned. He shoved his large hands beneath Sam's shirt and felt his smooth skin and very muscular body.  
Sam moved his fingers through Sherlock's hair and started to kiss down his cheekbone, his jaw and then his throat making the man groan and wiggle beneath him. Finally, Sherlock slung his legs around Sam's waist and just pressed.  
„What will be happening in one hour?“ Sam asked against his chest while kissing him.  
„A very pissed off army-doctor will barge through the door and probably kill you.“ That statement made Sam look into his eyes.  
„We shouldn't waste time then, should we?“ He pressed his tongue against Sherlock's lips who opened up rather quickly. They kissed and groped and moved like wild animals. Garment was torn until finally Sam's cock was out in the open. Sherlock grabbed it without any lube and pressed tightly around it. Sam threw his head back and groaned. He quickly moved his hand and pressed his thumb into the slit as John had done while Sherlock had simply watched until he dared touching John there.  
Sam panted. They knelt opposite each other on the sofa and Sherlock was sucking on his left nipple while Sam groped Sherlock's arse. Sherlock didn't get his cock out. Still he didn't want to be touched there. Even though he had had penetrative sex with John, he hadn't allowed him to touch his cock. Perhaps he would be allowed soon, but surely not Sam Winchester. Not now. But Sam just enjoyed Sherlock's administrations and didn't think of reciprocating. Sherlock didn't mind at all. This was only about experiences.  
„Yes! Yes! Yes!“ Sam chanted and his head still was thrown back with his eyes wide open when he came. Sherlock would have to have a look on the video feed later because he needed to see the look on his face when Sam came. He also wanted to watch himself bite into the man's shoulder when he came only a minute later while Sam just sucked his earlobe and stuck his tongue into his ear. He came into his pants which was an experience he didn't like at all. Sam looked all dazed but Sherlock pulled at his long limbs.  
„Ten minutes! Get up!“ Not too gently Sam was shoved off of Sherlock's body but he moved, even though he really didn't want to.  
„Bath?“ He asked swaying for just a second.  
„Over there. Hurry up!“ Sherlock pointed the way while already dropping his clothes and cleaning up in the kitchen-sink. Sam did hurry and both men were presentable again when John came home. Sherlock had discarded his torn clothes and had hidden them in a bag deep inside his closet. Sam had just covered his torn shirt by getting into his jacket. His shredded boxers were inside the bag with Sherlock's things. The window was open and a fire was crackling to get rid of the smell of sex.  
Sam felt a bit weird but hoped John would be concentrating on Sherlock who looked like nothing at all had happened. Not a hair out of place and clad in a beautiful suit as if being on his way to a photo-shoot for GQ.  
Sherlock had already catalogued and sorted everything into the experience-room inside his mind-palace. It had been an absolute fortunate event because Sam had been quite the experience and the cupboards and drawers were stuffed to the brim. Sherlock smirked to himself but hid it behind some folder.  
„Sherlock?“ Sam suddenly said looking up. Sherlock didn't lift his folder.  
„Huh?“ He pretended to keep reading but wanted to know what Sam wanted to tell him. Hopefully nothing to do with love and emotions.  
„I do really hope, you don't regret this. I also hope, you haven't got yourself, us, into some deep shit.“ Sam tried to catch his eyes and finally Sherlock answered closing the folder.  
„No and no. Don't worry, Sam.“ And right then the door opened and John was back home from his shift. Sherlock looked up and stood. A huge smile was on his face and Sam envied him, them. But then he thought about loved ones ending up on ceilings being very much on fire. And the feeling stopped.  
„John. There you are.“ John actually had a happy smile on his face, too, but it somehow vanished when acknowledging Sam on the sofa. Sherlock noticed and stepped into his line of sight.  
„Hey ...“ He stared into John's eyes and moved closer.  
„I missed you.“ And he didn't lie, did he? His emotions were quite the turmoil.  
„I missed you, too. But it seems, you haven't been too bored?“ Now they both looked at Sam.  
„He came over to talk about the case and the British Men of Letters. He also was bored because his brother left due to being told off because of emptying the mini-bar in their hotel and Castiel, well, because he is just Castiel.“ Sam just looked at him. He couldn't have worded it any better.  
„Well, yes. That's absolutely right and I appreciate having been welcome. But I will go back now and see what havoc has been created. Sherlock, thanks for having me over. John, see you.“ He nodded to both of them and then just left rather quickly.  
Sherlock smirked at his wording but was happy, he had just left. He could concentrate on John now. But John didn't look very happy right now.  
„What happened?“ He asked with his muscular arms crossed over his chest. Why was John suspicious?  
„Nothing. He just came by to talk.“ Sherlock let his eyes roam over John. No, he wasn't suspicious. He was …  
„You are jealous.“ He said being very much surprised. John let his arms drop.  
„You are stating the obvious. So, you are nervous. Why are you nervous?“ He slowly came closer. Sherlock swallowed. He must have rubbed off of John somehow.  
„There is absolutely no reason to be jealous, John. He came by to talk about the angel and the Men of Letters.“  
„And you just … talked?“ John asked sounding rather dangerous.  
„Yes, we just talked.“ Sherlock didn't want to ask about trust because he knew, he would suck at it. But John let go and just rubbed his forehead.  
„I am sorry. It has been a terrible shift.“ He fell down on his armchair and Sherlock quickly moved over. He went down on his knees and stayed between John's legs.  
„What do you need? A drink? Food? Whatever?“ He looked into his face.  
„A kiss. A drink. Food. Like that. Please?“ John sounded tired and Sherlock started to feel very, very bad but shook it off to make it better.  
„That's not a problem, John.“ He leant in and planted a kiss on John's lips. And then another. Good for him he had brushed his teeth while Sam had somehow managed to get dressed again without his shirt.   
Only then he stood and poured a drink. Afterwards he ordered take-away. He wasn't hungry at all but would eat a bit to appease John and not make him worry more than he already did.

***

Dean had left Mycroft's club in a rather good mood. He really liked Sherlock's brother. He was kind of cool even though he looked so posh in his three-piece-suits and like having a broomstick stuck in his behind.  
He returned to their hotel-room only to find Cas still brooding. He didn't acknowledge him. Sam was gone though. Dean checked his mobile. The moment he wanted to send a text; Sam returned. Dean's eyes moved over his body and he grinned.  
„Who was it? Do I know her? Him?“ He smirked when his brother blushed.  
„Shut up!“ Sam said and dropped on the bed staring at the ceiling. But a second later he got up on his elbow.  
„Where have you been?“ He asked and Dean grinned rather fondly.  
„I have been kidnapped by a beautiful woman and interviewed by Sherlock's brother Mycroft. I was brought into a very doushy place, his club. It's called the Diogenes and you weren't supposed to talk inside. Can you believe it? It was like on the telly. Loads of old geezers reading newspapers, smoking cigars, and sipping their drinks.“  
„But you obviously liked it?“ Sam slowly sat up against the headrest. Dean shrugged and sat on his bed, too.  
„Yes, I did. I was served drinks and snacks. And cake! The best freaking cake ever! And Sherlock's brother was bloody smug.“  
„No bloody doush-bag then, I assume?“ Sam asked grinning.  
„No, not at all. He stated he was holding a minor position in the government. Yeah, well, you know?“ Both men grinned.  
„But what did he want?“ Dean shrugged.  
„He wanted to know about our position. He knew about the Headmistress, Crowley, the whole bloody business. He didn't mind us killing Dr Hess though. He didn't seem very fond of her. I think, he takes advantage of the Brits, he doesn't like them. I saw some signs of witchcraft in his office.“ Dean talked quite a lot.  
„So, you think he has hired witches instead of the Brits to shield his place?“ Sam asked getting curious.  
„Yes, absolutely. The signs were clear. He has loads of contacts, not only in higher circles. And he knows about witches and other creatures.“  
„Interesting.“ Sam said shaking his head.  
„Now you. What did you do?“ Dean wouldn't let go, of course not. Sam sighed.  
„Why can't you leave it alone, Dean?“ Sam closed his eyes.  
„He had sex with Sherlock Holmes.“ Both men had forgotten about Castiel.  
„What?“ Dean's head shot around and looked at Castiel who still sat on the desk-chair.  
„I said Sam had sex ...“ Here Sam interrupted.  
„Yes, we heard you the first time, Cas. Thanks a lot, by the way.“ He ruffled his hair. Dean turned to look at him.  
„So, you had sex with Sherlock? I can't believe it!“ But somehow he looked like being a little bit proud. Sam groaned.  
„Care to explain the why?“ He asked after a few minutes.  
„He is very attractive and sexy.“ Sam shrugged.  
„He is a man.“ Cas sounded a little bit offended.  
„So? At least he isn't making him drink his blood. Is he?“ Dean asked.  
„No, he isn't. He is just a human being. Pleased now?“ Sam sounded annoyed now.  
„Sort of.“ Dean looked at Castiel again.  
„Now you. Why are you after John Watson? Why is he so damn special to you?“ Cas looked up.  
„I really don't know the answer, Dean. It's just a weird feeling. I still can't explain it.“  
„Perhaps we could find out, if we had access to the archives. I could ask Myc?“ Dean suggested.  
„Myc?“ Sam asked grinning.  
„Shut up!“ Dean replied.  
„Yes, go ahead and ask Sherlock's brother. We need anything we can get. I am out of my depth here already.“ Castiel looked sad.  
„Why don't you join me, Cas?“ Dean asked looking at him. Castiel just shrugged but didn't deny him. Dean looked quite pleased when he got his mobile and texted Mycroft Holmes. It took only a few minutes until he got a reply.  
„He welcomes you into his home, Cas. You may transport us in. I agree, it's only a short travel.“ Dean swallowed and stood.  
„I'll be just fine being left behind. You go and investigate because I am not any good with it. Never mind.“ Sam fell back on the bed and closed his eyes. Dean chuckled.  
„Stay online. We will contact you as soon as possible.“ Castiel took his hand and gone they were.

***

John was in Sherlock's bed and waited for him to come out of the bath. He could still hear him rummage in there. He knew something wasn't right but couldn't put a finger on it. Sherlock wouldn't tell and he wondered, if it was serious.  
He also knew Sherlock wouldn't tell, if he didn't want to. So, he just had to wait him out. And wait him out he would.  
Sherlock climbed into bed with him after having come out of the bath. He smelled of his sandalwood body-lotion that cost more than John's latest jumper. John knew Sherlock wanted to appease him, calm him. He sighed.  
Sherlock spoke all of a sudden after having made a decision.  
„John, I know you don't approve. But it was just to collect data. To be better. To perform better only for you.“ John was dumbstruck. He heard the words, but he didn't understand their meaning. He just turned his head to look at Sherlock.  
„Excuse me? Did you just confirm having been intimate with Sam Winchester?“ John asked and Sherlock nodded.  
„Yes, John.“ John's fists clenched into the blanket.  
„What?“ His voice was calm, but his body was tense.  
„I am trying to be honest here. Please listen to me. Just please?“ Sherlock pleaded.  
„Look at me and tell me about your feelings towards me. Now!“ It was John's commanding voice. The voice he would have used with his soldiers, the ones he had led into battle, the ones he pulled rank on. Normally he used this voice when telling Sherlock off for something after he had been a bit not good. Or if he wanted him to finally eat or get some sleep.  
Sherlock looked up but focused on John's forehead. He wasn't able to meet the steely blue of his eyes.  
„I want you to be close to me. I love you, John. I really do. I also know, I am not meeting your standards with so many things. That's why I got close with Sam Winchester. I just wanted to collect data to be able to please you better.“  
„Are you telling me you had sex with him because you needed more experience?“ John's voice almost broke and his hands shook.  
„Yes. Because I am not. Experienced, I mean. I want to be good for you, John. And I can't be. Now. Without. You know? I can't.“ Sherlock's voice was too small and John didn't like the sound of it.  
„Sherlock, did I give you the impression to not be pleased with you in any way? Just yes or no. Now!“  
„No.“ Sherlock didn't hesitate for a second and John relaxed a little bit.  
„But?“ John knew how to coax things out of Sherlock.  
„But I know, you are much more experienced than I am. I also know about my experiences in the past. I didn't want to feel intimidated, small, I needed ...“ Only then he cast his eyes.  
John's chest was constricted. His breathing was audible. Then he just tore the blanket and ripped open a pillow. He didn't utter a sound or a word while small feathers floated around everywhere. He didn't swear. He just made Sherlock jump out of the bed with a very scared look on his face.  
Sherlock cast a last look at John and then fled the room. John kept shredding the bedding.

***

Sherlock did not only flee his bedroom, he also fled Baker Street. He left only clad in socks and his coat and scarf. He hailed a cab and rode over to his brother's. His whole body shook when he arrived. And he almost fell inside when the door was being opened.  
„Myc, I messed up ...“ He stood outside with quivering lips and Mycroft just pulled him over the threshold.  
„Get up into my room. I am having guests over. I will be with you as soon as possible.“ Sherlock for once didn't question his brother, instead he just walked upstairs.  
Downstairs Mycroft returned into his living-room where he had hosted Dean Winchester and Castiel.  
„I believe, we are clear about the proceeding?“ He asked both of them. Dean nodded.  
„Yes, we are. Listen, I know what happened at Baker Street. Sam told me. Sherlock had no bad intentions.“ Dean knew it sounded weird. But wasn't everything?  
„He hurt John. I can feel it.“ Castiel sounded not amused. Mycroft admitted, he was confused. But only to himself.  
„Yes, well. Why don't you telefuck off and cuddle John?“ Dean sounded angry and almost spat his words at Cas. A hurt look met his eyes and he was gone.  
„Fuck ...“ Dean quietly swore. Mycroft rubbed his forehead.  
„Yes, indeed. Listen, I have guest-rooms ready, if you would like to stay?“ But Dean shook his head.  
„No, thanks a lot. We have talked about everything and I will go and act after it. You just make sure; the Douches of Letters won't interfere with my actions. Plus, take care of your brother. Sam didn't mean to destroy anything.“  
„Very well, Dean. My driver is waiting outside. He'll take you back to your hotel.“ Dean picked up his jacket.  
„Thanks. I mean it.“ He left and Mycroft closed the door after him. Only after he had typed in the alarm-code, he walked upstairs to look after his brother.


	6. Hide and Seek

Castiel didn't understand why Dean was acting like he was. But he didn't understand many things. He thought Dean liked him. He once said, they were brothers. Castiel had liked that. It meant; he was family.  
And now he had been sent off to appease John. No, the word had been mollify. But John wasn't a man to be easily mollified. Right now, he also knew better not to appear directly inside the bedroom of 221B. He just popped up in the living-room.  
He right away heard the noises from the bedroom. It was a loud and very inventive swearing accompanied by the tearing of fabric and hollow thuds, probably caused by a fist hitting the wall. Castiel decided it was better to stop John from whatever he was doing in there. He straightened up and once knocked. There was no answer and he hadn't really expected one. He pushed the door open and entered chaos.  
Torn fabric and feathers were everywhere. Some were still floating through the room. The blanket and pillows were totally shredded. John looked exhausted, he was pale and his moves had become slow. But still he banged his fist into the wall.  
„John, stop that.“ Castiel quietly said and reached out for him. John's bloodshot eyes looked up then.  
„Go away, Castiel. You can't help me.“ Castiel's hand stayed on John's shoulder and it prickled. His dead nerve-endings prickled. John was getting mad and he started to giggle and it sounded quite a bit insane.  
„Sam told us what happened. He is worried.“ John closed his eyes and clawed into some left-over fabric.  
„Dean and I were at his brother's. He is there now.“ That made John look up.  
„He is gone? Good. Then I won't need to discuss everything. It won't help anyway.“ He very slowly started to move out of the bed.  
„Discuss what? What are you up to, John?“ Castiel carefully asked.  
„What do you think? I will be moving out.“ He pushed by Castiel and moved into his old room. Castiel just followed the naked human.  
„Please don't do that. It will destroy him.“ John snorted. He had his old army-duffle on the bed and stuffed his few belongings in there.  
„It will destroy him? What about me? He didn't even think about me!“ He was panting again but managed to calm down.  
„Let me help you. Please?“ Castiel crept closer. John really thought him a bit creepy now.  
„How could you help me? Travel back in time and stop Sam from entering?“ He looked at him.  
„No, time-travelling is too dangerous. I only want to make you understand.“ John zipped his bag close.  
„How could you make me understand? Sherlock did what he did and he needs to understand that his actions have consequences. I can't do this anymore. I thought, we had something. And only after a short period of time he betrays me. He climbs into bed with me, kisses me after having just kissed someone else.“ He picked up his bag.  
„He didn't betray you, John. His intentions were ...“ John pushed him out of the way.  
„Don't excuse him, Castiel. I am leaving.“ Castiel followed him down the stairs.  
„Where are you going?“ Castiel finally asked and it stopped John.  
„I don't know. Some Bed & Breakfast. Plus, it's none of your business. Just leave me alone.“ John didn't move.  
„You have felt it, am I right? Your shoulder. You have felt it even though you can't feel anything.“ Castiel poked right into the wound. John didn't answer.  
„John, please. Don't run away. Don't do this to Sherlock.”  
“Why are you defending Sherlock now? I thought, you were after me?” Acid leaked from his mouth but Castiel didn't feel it. He only felt his pain and hurt.  
“I know Sam. He might have taken advantage. No, he has taken advantage. But I know, Sherlock meant no harm. I could see it in Sam's head. He was trying to be more experienced for you. He was afraid, you could leave him because he wasn't good enough.” John just shook his head.  
“Well, I am leaving now because he exaggerated. Again. I can't stand it. I really thought, he loved me.” John pressed his hands on his eyes and breathed hard.  
“He does love you.” Castiel approached John again and now placed both hands on his shoulders. John felt the energy race through his body and it made him tremble. Surprised he looked up.  
“What are you doing to me?” He wanted to shove him away, but found he couldn't.

***

Sherlock hadn't made it upstairs into one of the guest-rooms. Instead he had collapsed on the middle of the stairs. He leant against the bannister still clad in his coat and socks. His eyes were closed and once and again he sobbed. He was able to hear Dean leave. His brother closed the door and switched the alarm on. Then he approached.  
“Sherlock, get up.” His wrist was taken and he let himself be pulled off the stairs. Mycroft led him into his bedroom. He buttoned open his coat and took off his scarf.  
“Oh, brother-dear. You must be frozen to death. Bathroom, now.” Sherlock didn't feel the cold. Sherlock didn't feel anything. He just let Mycroft take over. Like he had always done when Sherlock had been a bit not good. Nothing could happen to him now. Mycroft was making sure of that. He smiled and switched completely off.  
Mycroft saw it happen and knew, he wasn't able to stop it from happening. Right now, he could only make sure that Sherlock was safe. So, at first, he lowered him into a warm bath and washed him. He towelled him dry and dressed him into warm pyjamas and fresh socks. He led him over to his bed and made him crawl under the blanket.  
“Sleep now. I am right here. I won't leave you. You know that, don't you?” Sherlock just rolled on his side and pulled up the blanket. He closed his eyes and relaxed. Only then he reached out for Mycroft's hand. Mycroft let him hold it until he was fast asleep.  
He sighed and poured a drink. He was still dressed. He sipped a bit and decided to join his brother. He shed his clothes and only brushed his teeth. He chose a pyjama, too, and climbed under the blanket with him. Sherlock grunted but moved to the side. He didn't wake though.  
Mycroft read for about two hours and had two more drinks until he finally switched off the light. Still he wasn't able to sleep. He just waited for the morning to come or for his brother to wake up again.  
Actually, Sherlock was faster than the morning. He rolled on his back and found his brother by his side. He groaned and closed his eyes again. Mycroft smirked. A non-verbal discussion started.  
“You came to me, brother-mine.”  
“I know. I was desperate. I am still desperate.”  
“Dean told me what you have done.”  
“So, Sam showed off. Great.”  
“He more or less confessed.”  
“I bet Castiel took the chance to help John.”  
“Dean sent him there, yes.”  
“And?”  
“What?”  
“Please!”  
“He still is at Baker Street. With Castiel.” Now Sherlock openly sighed and got up. He ruffled his hair and looked at his brother.  
“I'll be taking a shower now. Do I get breakfast before getting thrown out?” Only then Mycroft left the bed, too, and came around to hug his brother.  
“Of course you will get a proper breakfast. Whatever you want. And you won't get thrown out. You may stay as long as you want and need. You know that, don't you?” He tugged at a strand of Sherlock's hair and it made him smile and remember their youth.  
“Pancakes!” He ordered before disappearing into the bath. Mycroft shook his head and entered another bath to wash up before preparing breakfast. Sherlock knew where to find clothes, so he walked downstairs and into his kitchen.  
He stopped dead midway on the stairs because he heard noises from downstairs. The closest gun was in the drawer right by the bottom of the stairs and he hurried to get it. He undid the safety and took it in both hands. He stealthily moved forward and jumped into the doorway.  
“Freeze!” It was John who looked up from stirring the dough. He raised a brow. Then he grinned.  
“You are still in your pyjamas, Mycroft.” Mycroft didn't lower his gun or left his position.  
“It doesn't mean, I couldn't shoot you. How did you get in?” Mycroft demanded to know looking around.  
“I got zapped in by Castiel.” John answered.  
“And where is Castiel?” John shrugged.  
“He left. Why don't you relax and call Sherlock downstairs for breakfast?” He still smiled and crept closer now.  
“Stay where you are!” Mycroft lifted the gun again. Somehow this didn't feel right.  
“This isn't John!” Suddenly there was Sherlock by his side and he was holding a gun, too.  
“I am cooking you pancakes, love, just as you like them.” It sounded very much like John.  
“Tell me your name!” Mycroft ordered.  
“You know my name, Mycroft. I am John Hamish Watson.” He still came closer.  
“He isn't John.” Suddenly Crowley had appeared behind the counter.  
“And you are the devil and can't be trusted.” John smirked.  
Mycroft was too far away for all the weapons against the supernatural. He needed to leave Sherlock here and go and get some. But what would happen with both the not John and Crowley in his kitchen?  
“Go, Mycroft. I'll stay.” Mycroft hurried away and Sherlock had his eyes on duplicate John.  
“Of course, you'll stay. I am making you pancakes.” Sherlock looked over the creature's shoulder at Crowley.  
“You could help me, you know?” Crowley shrugged.  
“Surely I could. But what would you do for me?” He looked from down below at Sherlock.  
“If you won't help anyway, why did you appear in my brother's kitchen at all?” Sherlock asked.  
“Sugar and cinnamon or cheese, love?” The not John asked.  
“If you were John, you would know.” Sherlock replied making the not John sigh and shake its head.  
Mycroft returned holding an ancient book in hand. He opened it and the not John looked curious. So did Sherlock. Crowley widened his stance.  
Mycroft cast a spell. The not John creature shrieked like a banshee and dropped the bowl with the dough. It clattered on the tiles and Sherlock had to cover his ears. He still held on to the gun though. Mycroft kept talking and a storm blew wildly inside the kitchen. The not John creature kept shrieking but he also moved forward, very slowly but move he did.  
Sherlock groaned and fell on his knees. Blood was running out of his ears, his nose, and his eyes.  
“Make it stop!” He screamed and dropped the gun. It clattered onto the tiles. His teeth were also bloody by now. The not John smirked and kept moving. Crowley did nothing but wasn't immune to the pain either.  
Mycroft's voice became louder and he threw a hex-bag against the not John. Now it snarled and hissed and smoke rose from its body. Mycroft was also sweating by now and his voice became hoarse.

***

Sam and Dean dashed into Baker Street.  
“What are you doing, Cas?” Sam asked and looked at John and Castiel. He was worried because John looked like being in pain.  
“I am helping him.” Cas answered and pressed his palms on John's body. John trembled and groaned. He wasn't able to shove Castiel off and somehow, he also didn't want to. Whatever the angel did to him, it felt good and right. Like silver flowing through his veins, new sparks of life hunting away the dark that still possessed him sometimes.  
He had no idea how much time had passed when his sight had fully returned. He still stood in Baker Street, but now there were Sam and Dean, too.  
“How are you, John?” Dean asked and came closer. John looked up.  
“I am not sure. My body is tingling. My shoulder is itching and so is my back. I need to see. It's disturbing.” He ripped open his shirt and stood in front of the mirror in Sherlock's bedroom.  
“What did you do to me? Castiel?” John yelled the question and Castiel answered leaning against the door-frame.  
“I healed you.” John stared into the mirror. His scar was gone. Completely and totally gone. His skin was unblemished, but it kept itching.  
“I can see that. But how, I mean, why ...” John kept rubbing and then he turned around.  
“And what's that?” He asked dangerously low. By now Sam and Dean stood by Castiel's side and had a look, too.  
“Wow, are these wings coming out?” Dean asked and already reached out. Sam swatted his arm away.  
“Don't!” He hissed at his brother.  
“Yes, don't!” John hissed at Dean, too. Then he focused on Castiel.  
“So?” He slanted his eyes and Castiel didn't look very happy.  
“It seems to be a side-effect. It never happened before.” John tried to reach around and touch the things on his back, but wasn't able to reach.  
“Does it hurt?” Sam carefully asked.  
“No, they are itching. It feels like a wound healing.” John looked confused.  
“So, Cas was right all the time. You are an angel. You are special.” Dean looked almost relieved.  
“I really don't need this shit!” John yelled. Then he locked his gaze on Castiel again.  
“Reverse it! Make them disappear!” He still yelled.  
“I can't. Please stop yelling at me. I don't like it.” But perhaps the change had done something to John's temper, as well. Normally he was quite able to control it, even with Sherlock. But now it bubbled up like a potion inside. He felt like being on fire. He raked his fingers through his hair.  
“Fuck, look at his eyes.” Sam pulled his gun from his jacket. Dean looked and swallowed.  
“Bloody hell, Cas, what is happening here?” John's eyes were glowing an icy blue. His whole body was glowing like he was an ice demon or something.  
“I really don't know! I didn't mean to do this!” Castiel looked worried. It never really was a good sign.  
“It's crawling out of my skin! My back is on fire! Make it stop!” His voice boomed through the flat, probably it boomed through the whole street.  
And only then Castiel approached John, if it was even still John, and tried to calm him down. But when he touched him, the cold moved over his hands and arms and froze over his body. Not for long, but it did for a few seconds. Castiel was shocked to the core. He had once heard the stories. It was aeons ago, even before the prophet walked the earth.  
“Try to control it. Try to push them out. Think about the one you love. Now, John, do it!” Castiel yelled, too.  
John closed his eyes and really concentrated on the two bumps on his back. He also pulled up the picture of a naked Sherlock writhing on his bed and looking up at him. He felt his skin tear and he screamed.  
Sam and Dean could just stare and lowered their weapons again. Castiel's eyes were bright blue, too. And John wasn't John anymore. Instead there stood an angel with icy wings spread all over the place. And when he opened his eyes, they were still a stormy, cold blue.  
“Why are you staring at me?” He asked and both Dean and Sam covered their ears and closed their eyes.  
“Lower your voice, John. You need to control your powers.” John looked at Castiel and rose a brow.  
“What? Powers? Are you kidding me?” He slowly shook his head and his wings moved, too. Only then he seemed to realise that something was different. He looked to the side and then back at Castiel.  
“No, this isn't real. It can't be ...” By now he was able to touch and his fingers reached the feathers. They felt smooth and soft beneath his fingers and he loved the feeling. He smiled and the air around him warmed. Everything became calm again.  
He walked close to the mirror and looked inside. He tried to control them and they once flapped. John grinned. His control over his body had always been good and he managed rather quickly to unfold them and fold them back. He smirked at his image.  
“Well, we do know by now what pulled you over to me, don't we?” He spoke to Castiel who wasn't so sure about it, but didn't say so.  
Sam's mobile rang and he looked at the display. So did Dean. It showed the triple six. Crowley. Sam sighed but answered.  
“What do you want?” He simply asked.  
“Come over to Mycroft's. A creature is attacking both Sherlock and his brother. It looks like John, but it isn't him.”  
“No, John is here with us. What creature? And why are you on the phone and not helping?” Crowley just hung up.  
Castiel, Dean and John looked at Sam now.  
“There is an attack on the Holmes brothers. We need to go.” Castiel just grabbed Sam and Dean and zapped over.  
“Sherlock!” John yelled and somehow, based on purest instinct, managed to follow.

***

The moment the Winchesters appeared with Castiel; Crowley moved into the background. The not John creature didn't acknowledge them. Instead he still fought the spells Mycroft kept throwing at him. By now Sherlock was unconscious on the tiles and didn't move anymore.  
Two seconds later John appeared right by Sherlock's side and roared with anger. But the first urge was to protect and to heal his beloved. That's why he crouched by his side and pulled him up and against his body. He folded his wings around him and shielded him against the evil. He trusted the others to fight his fight.  
Sam and Dean emptied their guns into the not John, but it didn't help.  
“Damn it, what is he?” Dean shouted and looked at Crowley. He saw his lips moving, but wasn't able to hear the words. He thought, he understood shape-shifter. They needed fire and salt then, like usual. But the cupboards were behind the not John. Plus, they didn't have their normal weaponry with them, that was stored in their trunk. In his beloved Impala. Back home. Dean swore. They only had been able to bring their guns since they held false gun licences.  
But if it were a simple shape-shifter, their bullets should have worked on him since they were made from silver. Sam was rather irritated, but had to trust Crowley, he just had to.  
Suddenly his eyes met Mycroft's. He nodded. Dean knew, he had seen the word, too.  
“Shoot the cupboard, Myc. Sam, the not John. Now!” Sam just did it. He trusted his brother. Mycroft dropped the book and emptied his gun at the cupboard containing the salt instead of continuing the spell. He kept moving forward until he was able to grab the Bunsen burner, that he normally used for the crème brulee.  
Salt fell on the not John's head and he looked irritated.  
“This won't stop me.” He smiled an ugly smile. He reached out for Mycroft whose gun was empty by then. He wasn't able to fight the beast; it was too strong. Instead he started the burner and held it against the not John's hair. Plus, he kept chanting the spell again. The hair caught fire in a second and the creature howled in pain. Quickly the flames caught and held on where the salt stuck on its body. The body crumbled to the ground and Sam stomped a few times on its remains until it was over. Then he looked at Mycroft who had suffered a few burns on his arms but nothing too bad.  
While Sam took care of the not John, Dean approached Crowley.  
“You could have helped, you know? With more than a phone-call and a word.” Dean was angry.  
“Oh, Squirrel, where would be the fun?” He grinned and looked at the angel hovering over Sherlock.  
“Care to explain?” Crowley asked, but Dean just shrugged. He turned to Castiel.  
“What about you? Why weren't you doing anything?” Dean looked at Castiel now, too, who just stared into nothing.  
“Cas? What's wrong?” But Cas didn't answer or even react. He just stood there and didn't even blink anymore.

***

Sherlock felt the crucial pain and he thought he had to die. He felt the blood dripping and his intestines curling around themselves, knotting tightly. He screamed and yelled but nothing happened. The creature that wasn't John was still grinning at him, hurting him. His brother just barely held it at bay but couldn't stop it.  
But then the Winchesters appeared being brought in by Castiel. At once guns were fired. But Sherlock felt the change in his body. He was about to die in his brother's bloody kitchen. He would die without having seen John again, without having made his peace with his beloved. He loved him so much. Why had he hurt him? Why had he betrayed him? By now he knew it had been wrong, so wrong. But now it was too late.  
So, his last loving thoughts went out to Mycroft and John and then he just closed his eyes.  
But suddenly it was very, very cold around him. Someone, something, was shielding him from the not John and it felt like John. But it couldn't be, could it? He tried to move and his hands touched feathers. He must be hallucinating.  
“John?” He croaked it out and at once got caged in even tighter than before by something very, very strong. It almost hurt but it was a good pain and he gave in leaning against the soft surrounding.  
John felt Sherlock roll into a ball beneath his wings and shielded him completely. He felt sorry for having been so angry with him. He could feel the love pouring out of the man's skin. The love for him. He had been able to read his mind just a second before and he would do anything to protect him. Anything.  
Behind his back the fight had ended. He felt the creature die. It was in his brain. Slowly he turned his head and saw bones crumble. He pulled a face. He looked around.  
Mycroft was leaning against the counter and panted heavily. Sam and Dean looked like being on drugs. They looked like soldiers after the won battle. Crowley crouched by the pile of bones and curiously poked a finger through them. And then there was Castiel. He didn't move, he didn't speak.  
“What's wrong with Castiel?” John asked. He was a bit torn between the urge to keep Sherlock protected beneath his wings and the wish to help his fellow angel. Hold on. Fellow angel? He closed his eyes and once shook his head.  
“I don't know.” Dean stood in front of him now and moved his palm before his eyes. Very quickly. He didn't get any reaction.  
“Here, poke him with this.” Crowley offered an angel blade and Dean even took it. John recognised it from when Castiel had killed that other angel in their living-room.  
“Dean?” Sam stood up and Dean sheepishly smiled.  
“I wouldn't have.” He lowered the blade and Crowley took it back. Then Crowley just poked Castiel and it smelled like burnt flesh just for a second.  
“Don't!” Both Sam and Dean yelled at him. Castiel still didn't show any reaction or even emotion.  
By now John had straightened up a bit and lifted his wings so Sherlock was back in the open. His head was resting against John's shoulder. There was blood everywhere.  
“Sherlock? Oh God, Sherlock!” Mycroft stumbled over and fell on his knees by his brother's side. Just for a second his eyes roamed over John, but then he focused back on Sherlock. He could ask later.  
“Oh God … What did he do to you? Can you hear me? Sherlock?” Then there was John's hand on his arm and it tingled. Mycroft looked up and there were tears in his eyes.  
“He will live. He is only asleep due to exhaustion. You don't have to worry, Mycroft.” He relaxed at once. John's voice was like balm being rubbed into his skin. It was just nice and relaxing. Plus, the burns he had suffered had been completely healed.  
He just shook his head and with a last glance at Sherlock he stood. He straightened and his hands were on his hips.  
“So? What happened here? What was this?” He pointed at the bones and ashes on his kitchen-floor.  
“We don't know, Myc. Cas zapped us over after Crowley called us and John became that ...” He pointed at John and Mycroft rubbed his forehead.  
“It's probably what Cas felt all the time about John.” Sam added. Mycroft hummed and walked over to Crowley.  
“Thanks a lot, Crowley.” He tilted his head in acknowledgement and both men looked at Castiel who suddenly woke.  
“We can't let anyone know about John. He is an abomination.” Now John looked up.  
“Excuse me? You did this! It wasn't my idea at all!” John sounded very annoyed and the room became cold.  
“I have only triggered what was already there. I am sorry. But you have to leave.” Castiel said stepping up to John.  
“No! And where would I go anyway? Plus, I am not leaving without Sherlock!” But Castiel just shook his head.  
“I am sorry, John, but you have no choice, if you want to survive.”  
“Take him home, Castiel. And then come back and get us. And Sherlock, if needed. Not Crowley though.” Dean shot a look to his side where said not man still stood and listened.  
“You want to take him into your HQ? The one everybody knows about? Such a brilliant idea!” Crowley snorted.  
“Well, where would you take him?” Mycroft asked and Crowley really thought about it.  
“My home.” He finally answered. The Winchesters considerably paled.  
“Hell?” Both men shouted and shook their heads. Crowley couldn't but grin at their reaction.  
“No, not hell. My home from when I was human.”  
“It's still there? And you can survive there?” Sam asked.  
“According to Rowena you were a “bleeding beggar from the bottom of the bin”.” Dean imitated her Scottish accent rather nicely. Mycroft grinned and shook his head.  
“It's heritage!” Crowley sounded a bit pissed.  
“Rowena told us you were poor and had to live in a sodden hut hungry all the time. And now it's heritage? Please!” Sam angrily said.  
“She didn't lie. I didn't lie. We were living like beggars for a long time because she didn't manage to get the coven under her control. She gave me away and left. I had to do something and I did. I ended up with the castle and made it my home. End of story.” He sounded somehow both angry and sad.  
“Show me!” Mycroft ordered and retrieved a tablet. He pulled up a map on Google. Crowley sauntered over and placed his hand on Mycroft's arm to lower it, so he could have a look at the display. The Winchesters smirked and even Mycroft showed a small smile when Crowley finally showed him. He also made him see the place from the inside.  
“It's protected and angels normally won't get in. I will let you two in though.” He pointed at both Castiel and John.  
“I am not an angel!” John denied the obvious and everyone looked at him.  
“Whatever. Coming?” Dean had already joined Castiel and Sam followed suit. Mycroft considered and then looked at John.  
“Go and take Sherlock. You can protect him. I will take care of the Men of Letters. If needed, I will follow.” John looked at Sherlock and knew Mycroft was right. He looked back at Castiel and nodded. He would know how to follow. Somehow, he would know. Plus, he had been able to follow him here.  
“Very good. Let me go first, because I need to prepare the care-taker for your arrival. Some protection has to go before you can enter. Give me a minute.” Castiel just nodded and Crowley disappeared.  
Mycroft kissed his brother on the forehead.  
“You'll be safe with John, brother-dear. Don't worry anymore.” There was no conscious reply, but Mycroft felt the reaction and so did John. Both men smiled.  
“Travel safe. All of you.” He made a step back and first Castiel disappeared with the Winchesters followed suit by John with Sherlock in his arms.  
“Now, I will just dust this off, right?” Mycroft sighed staring at the pile of bones and ashes. Then he went to get a broomstick. He moved everything into the fire-place and burnt it, just to be on the safe side. He was quite sure about the fact, that this had not been just a simple shape-shifter. If it would have been, the killing would have been much easier. The silver-bullets would have worked. The spell would have worked. He knew what he had been doing. And what if this had been the killer? Then it wold be all over by now. But perhaps this had not been the only one? Mycroft felt weird because of not knowing. Like his brother he didn't like not knowing.  
This was extremely worrying.

***

Sherlock slowly woke when something cold wiped over his face. He blinked his eyes open. There was John.  
“What a beautiful dream ...” He sighed and kept looking. But the picture didn't vanish. So weren't the wings attached to John's body. And then it hit Sherlock. He remembered being attacked by some cruel force. But then it was forced back by another stronger force. Then he had lost his consciousness.  
“John?” He carefully reached out and touched the feathers. John once flapped his wings and the cool air blew Sherlock's hair off his sweaty face.  
“Yes, Sherlock?” He replied and continued cleaning his face. There was still some blood left close to his ears.  
“You are an angel. My angel.” Sherlock smiled and kept touching.  
“You are stating the obvious. It means, you still aren't back to 100 %.” Sherlock dropped his hands.  
“Why do you even care for me? I betrayed you. And still, there you are. Where are we anyway? This is not my brother's place.” Sherlock sat up against the headrest of a four-poster and John helped him by stuffing some pillows behind his back.  
“According to Castiel we have to hide. Crowley offered his home and we all went. Well, except for your brother. He has taken over the home-front.” Sherlock paled even more.  
“Crowley? We are in hell?” Sherlock asked sniffing the air very carefully. John laughed quietly.  
“No, we are in Scotland. His ancestral home, heritage.” Sherlock hummed.  
“Why did he offer such a thing? What does he want?” Sherlock asked and John only could shrug.  
“Listen. Back in your brother's kitchen I thought you were dead or were close to dying. I love you, Sherlock. Whatever you have done, you did it because you meant well. I know it.” John took his hand.  
“I also thought I had to die. And my last thought went out to you, John. I do love you very much.” They kissed and John enveloped him with his wings.

***

“This is actually very nice, isn't it?” Sam said looking around their room. Dean snorted and kept looking out of the window. Castiel stood right in the middle of the room.  
“I don't know what to think. I would like to talk to John.” Castiel said. Now Dean snorted.  
“Such a surprise!” He was still very annoyed.  
“Dean, please.” Castiel's voice was apologising.  
“We do know now that what you felt was right. But we still don't know why and how it happened.” Sam tried to appease both Dean and Castiel.  
“We have to find out and we can't hide forever. In Scotland most of all!” Dean sounded angry.  
“I am the only one who can find out. But I need to talk to John first and gather my strength.” Castiel looked at them.  
“What about us? Are we supposed to sit here and wait?” Sam asked.  
“Roam the castle. Find Crowley. Go and explore.” Castiel suggested and then just left the room.  
“OK, let's roam. Perhaps we will find some decent booze and food!” Dean looked at his brother and wiggled his brows. Sam just sighed and rolled his eyes, but followed. Castiel was already out of sight when they stood outside in front of their room. They walked downstairs and looked behind every open door. No one was here. At least no humans were. But they did find the bar and settled down with a decent drink. A fire burnt and they just stayed and for once enjoyed the quiet.

***

Sherlock slept for a very long time and woke up very, very hungry. It was dark. Sherlock blinked and reached out but John wasn't there.  
“John?” He asked and sat up.  
“I am here.” John replied from above. Sherlock looked up and saw John hovering. It didn't look very professional and every move of his wings made something fall off some shelves.  
“Come down again, please?” John carefully lowered himself but fell the last metre. He bumped on the bed and made Sherlock's body jump.  
“Practising?” Sherlock asked sitting up. John nodded and folded his wings back. Doing so he brushed over Sherlock's head and almost knocked him off the bed.  
“Ow, John!” John looked stricken.  
“I am sorry, love. I really am. I can't really control it anymore. I don't know how Castiel makes it look so cool.” He sighed and tried not to move anymore.  
“You also can't make them disappear altogether, can you? I mean, most of the time Castiel is wingless.”  
“Suddenly they had burst out of my back and I have no idea what to do about them. It's not that I went to angel school. But at first, I was quite able to make them disappear, to fold them back in and out as I wished. But it's getting harder every time I do it.”  
“You need to talk to Castiel. I will wander this place and see what's to find.” But John shook his head.  
“No, it's too dangerous. You won't go alone. Go find Sam and Dean, but don't wander around all by yourself.”  
“And if I don't do what you say, you will smite me? God's wrath and everything?” Sherlock didn't look very amused.  
“Of course not. But this is Crowley's home-turf. Please be careful is all I am saying.” Sherlock relaxed.  
“I'll find the brothers and you hang out with Castiel. But first I need bath and fresh clothes. There are fresh clothes, am I right?” John just pointed over to a large closet and Sherlock slowly stood and walked over. He opened it and found tons of clothes. He looked very pleased upon seeing they had all his favourite brands.  
While Sherlock showered, Castiel found John. He raised a brow because his wings were still in the open. John seemed to know what he was thinking and shrugged.  
“I can't make them disappear.” Castiel sighed and looked at the things on the ground.  
“And you tried to fly.” John nodded.  
“Yes, not very successfully though. I almost knocked Sherlock off the bed.” John looked helpless.  
“I will show you. But we will need a bigger place. Perhaps we should step outside?” Castiel suggested.  
“Leave the protection? Are you sure?” But Castiel shook his head.  
“No, not into the open, but just down there where we would still be inside the walls.” Both angels looked outside and finally John agreed.  
“OK, let's go. I told Sherlock, so he will be fine. He will go and find Sam and Dean.” They left and soon enough stood outside in the castle courtyard on the cobble-stones.

***

Sherlock showered for a long time and chose some clothes. Finally, he was able to leave the room. He found Sam and Dean downstairs sipping drinks.  
“May I join you?” He asked approaching slowly. Sam just nodded and smiled at him. Dean raised a brow.  
“If you think that wise?” Dean added and Sherlock sighed.  
“Listen, John and I are good. Nothing has been destroyed. He just didn't want me to wander around all alone in here.”  
“Wise decision. You might find things in the dark. Or they might find you.” A voice suddenly spoke to them and the three jumped on the spot. It had been a woman speaking and now she stepped from the shadows.  
Both the Winchesters had their guns drawn and Sam had taken Sherlock's arm and pushed him behind. He didn't argue looking at the woman. But was she a woman? What was she?  
“Who the hell are you?” Dean asked lifting his gun.  
“Oh, please! Put this down. It won't kill me.” She approached him and he looked at her.  
“So, what are you then?” Sam added and she turned her head.  
“That wasn't very polite.” She sighed and then looked at Sherlock.  
“The younger Holmes. Interesting.” She turned around again.  
“And the Winchesters. Even more interesting. All bunched up in Crowley's castle.” She snorted.  
“Yeah, it's quite cosy. So, who were you again? He didn't say anything about other visitors.” Sam tried again.  
“I am his house-keeper.” She smiled all around.  
“I bet you are a bit more than that.” Dean smirked looking her up and down.  
“I mean no harm to you. This place is safe. Crowley said so. And so it will be. Plus, the castle is protected by my puppies, as well.” Now Sam swallowed.  
“Your puppies?” He asked.  
“And by puppies you mean hellhounds, am I right?” Dean added and she nodded delighted.  
“Yes, of course. They are my babies! So cute and cuddly! Would you like to ...”  
“No!” Both men quickly answered shaking their heads.  
“Yes!” Sherlock answered at the same time. He was bloody curious and he didn't want to keep sitting here when there were new things to see and explore. Hopefully he would be allowed to touch one of these beasts. He slowly licked his lips.  
The woman looked surprised.  
“Very well, Sherlock. You may come along when it's feeding time.” She beamed at him.  
“Now that we are such good friends and you even know our names, could you please tell us yours?” Sam asked.  
“Of course! How very impolite of me. I am Ms Black, Elsa Black. I am both a witch and a demon, but you don't have to worry. I am bound to this place. As long as you don't destroy anything, you are safe.” Now Sherlock looked worried.  
“Look, Ms Black. John, he didn't mean to break anything with his wings. He is just very inexperienced. Please don't punish him?” She raised a brow at him.  
“Oh, the blond angel? The new one? Well, I will spare him for a bit. He should learn to control his powers though rather quickly.”  
“I am sure he will.” Sherlock sounded very convincing.  
“And you two, clean up after yourself. Your room already looks wrecked.” Sam almost looked sorry and then he looked at Dean who managed to look embarrassed.  
“I'll tidy up right away, Ms Black. Come on, Sam.” They left the room rather quickly and the house-keeper looked rather pleased with herself.  
“Now, Sherlock, we will be going to the kitchen to collect the food for my darlings.” She smiled and Sherlock wondered, if he had imagined the pointy teeth. Probably not. But he followed her anyway.  
The kitchen was downstairs and held a big oven. It was warm and smelled nice.  
“Yes, I had it heated up for you lot. You need to eat normal food, don't you?” She grinned up at him.  
“I suppose so.” Sherlock looked around. Who else was here? No one was seen or heard.  
“Here, hold this.” He was given a big wooden bowl and obediently held it up for her while she put loads of steaks inside. At least Sherlock hoped they were steaks. From an actual animal. But from the colour and smell he could tell; it was all fine. He relaxed a bit.  
“Highland cattle. Nothing to worry about. Even though the dogs won't be very pleased. But they understand.” She smiled almost lovingly. She also took some big cookies for dogs from a bag.  
“Follow me. You will like it.” Sherlock did exactly that and kept looking around. They left through a door and ended up on some green. Right then the hellhounds started to howl and bark. They were free. Sherlock swallowed while Ms Black cooed to them.  
“Oh, hallo my lovelies! Mummy's here! And she brought a guest!” All the dog’s heads turned towards Sherlock.  
“Hallo, dearest pets. I brought your food today.” Just by instinct he lowered his voice and their ears perked up. All of them came close and walked around him. The biggest one sniffed him and once barked. The rest of them sat down while he sat right in front of Sherlock staring at the bowl. His head was the same height as Sherlock's who was still standing.  
“Hand him a steak, Sherlock. He won't hurt you.” Sherlock did hope so. He was a bit scared because of his fingers and hand. He really wanted to keep playing his violin.  
He reached into the bowl and picked the biggest piece. The hellhound was panting and licked his snout. Then he took the offered meat very carefully. And then it was gone. The hound wagged its tail and made room for the others who surrounded Sherlock and nudged him. He got pushed around a bit but not too hard. It was rather playful and he quite enjoyed it. He even murmured to them. The last one licked his hands clean when the bowl was empty.  
“Dessert time, my lovelies!” Ms Black now gave the cookies away and the hellhounds happily took them.  
“Are they here to protect the property solely?” Sherlock asked looking at her.  
“Yes, they protect this place and its owner, Crowley, the King of Hell. They also pick up persons and escort them to hell when their contract has run out.”  
“Contract?” Sherlock asked. He only had heard rumours so far and now was the opportunity to gain more knowledge.  
“Yes, a contract. Money, power or whatever one wishes against normally ten years of your life left plus your soul, of course.” She grinned and now her teeth were clearly visible.  
“Of course.” Sherlock swallowed.  
“And these pretty things come and get you.”  
“Sherlock? What are you doing here?” Suddenly there was John and Sherlock's face lightened up.  
“John! I was helping with the hounds. I fed them.” He sounded proud.  
“Oh, you are the new angel. I am Ms Black, the house-keeper.” She reached out for John and polite as he was, he took her hand. His wings were still out and now Castiel came around the corner, too. His eyes moved over Ms Black, but he didn't say anything.  
The leader of the pack approached and walked around John, but John only had eyes for Sherlock. The big thing snorted and it ruffled John's wings. Sherlock grinned. John and Castiel looked annoyed.  
“John, you may have a break now. Go with Sherlock and rest a bit.” Castiel said and John just nodded.  
“Thank you, Ms Black. I'll take the bowl into the kitchen.” Sherlock nodded and left with John. She smiled. She liked that human. He was different. He had no prejudices.  
“Did you trigger this?” She pointed at John's disappearing figure, but looked at Castiel.  
“So it seems. I never even saw one.” He slowly shook his head while his fingers absent-mindedly carded through the fur of a female hellhound who had repeatedly nudged him.  
“Me neither. I heard stories and I read about them. They are supposed to be lore.” She sounded thoughtful.  
“Yes, but aren't we all?” He looked at her and both looked rather sad. The hound whined.

***

“Did Castiel make you jump through a loop?” Sherlock smirked and moved his hands through John's wings.  
“Yes, and it was on fire.” John replied. Sherlock stopped and lowered his hands.  
“What? This insane beast! I will ...” Only then John laughed.  
“No, we were only training moving the wings. It is working pretty good by now. Don't worry. Castiel won't ever harm me.”  
“Oh, I see. Anyway, I would like to take a feather and examine it. If you don't mind?” Sherlock already reached out. John made a step back.  
“You want to pluck a feather from my body to experiment? You don't even have lab equipment!” John didn't like the idea.  
“You make it sound so bad. As if I were to slaughter you for Thanksgiving or something. And I bet Crowley would get me stuff, if I ask him.”  
“He sure would and then you'd own him big time, Sherlock. Please don't. Wait until we are home again. Until then entertain yourself differently.” A new idea sparked through Sherlock's brain.  
“We could entertain ourselves, John. I never said sorry, not really. So, if you please could forgive me, I would make it all better.” Sherlock reached out for John.  
“Sorry, what? You want to have sex now? Here?” Sherlock shrugged.  
“Why not? I have showered and I profusely apologised already. What else do you need me to do?”  
“Nothing, love, nothing at all. But with all my new strength I am really afraid, I could hurt you. I need to know more about my new powers. I am sorry.” Sherlock looked shocked.  
“Are you telling me you can't have sex with me? That's just great!” He turned away.  
“Sherlock, please.” But he walked away from him.  
“I'll go find the library. You go and train some more.” He sounded cranky.  
“Please be careful.” When Sherlock passed by, John's wings folded around his body as if shielding himself. It made him look small. Sherlock swallowed and felt a bit sorry. But he was so fed up with saying sorry. He wanted his bloody life back.  
He exhaled and straightened up. He pulled up his knowledge about architecture, old castles, and such. It took him only a few minutes to find the library. He built a fire and poured a drink. Then he started to scan the shelves.

***

Mycroft sat at home and wondered what to do when his mobile rang. He raised a brow when recognising the number. It was Deborah Kingston from the London Chapter House. He answered her call.  
“Ms Kingston. How do you do?” His normal polite mask came up like a shield.  
“Mr Holmes. Just fine. And you?” She replied and Mycroft just hummed.  
“Enough pleasantries. I can't reach your brother. He owes me information.” She sounded angry.  
“I am not my brother's care-taker and don't know about his whereabouts.” Mycroft sounded annoyed.  
“Is that so? I was told about the attack inside your home, Mr Holmes. It seems everyone important has been there including a new player in the game.”  
“That's none of your business. And I'd like to warn you. If you have cameras or audio on my person, you will regret it.” He threatened her with a very cold voice.  
“Oh, will we?” She provoked him and Mycroft gave in into the game. He would teach her and the bloody Men of Letters a fucking lesson.  
“Yes, my dear, you will.” And he hung up on her. Then he stood rubbing his hands. He collected some potions, herbs and other things normal people won't ever touch. Afterwards he blew the powder over his mobile and called a number he hadn't called for a very long time. It was ringing through, but after a few minutes it was answered.  
“Yes?” A dark voice answered the call.  
“I'd like to call in a favour, Jalraran.” The dark voice rumbled with laughter.  
“Mycroft Holmes, you fucking human! What a pleasure! I am delighted to hear from you!” The voice ran over Mycroft's body like melted chocolate and soon his arousal was obvious.  
“Stop that, please? I am only calling in a favour. You promised. Just please?” Mycroft normally never begged, but this time it was necessary.  
“I am coming over. Will you let me in?” The double-entendre was quite clear, but Mycroft just confirmed and lifted the shield for magical beings. The second was enough for the demon to appear right by his side.  
“Oh, Mycroft! You have aged beautifully! Come here!” Mycroft knew he had to obey, he somehow owed him. So, he went right into his embrace.  
“Jalraran, thanks for coming.” Mycroft whispered against the hard and hot chest.  
“Not yet, my dear, but I can see you are happy to see me.” He laughed again and kissed him.  
“Please, don't. I can't ...” But already a wicked tongue was forced between his lips and probed into his mouth. It was a snake's tongue and felt weird. A hand pressed between his legs and rubbed over his erection. He groaned.  
“Tell me, you don't want it, don't want me. Right now, or shut up!” Mycroft didn't stop him when he took his cock and stroked it. Instead he clung to him and whimpered.  
“You have become weak, my little human. I was told, you were a powerful human? Is that so?” Mycroft nodded.  
“So, what do you need me for? Scare some witches off? Burn a place to ashes? Need to borrow some power? What for, Mycroft? Will it be worthwhile?” He held him a bit afar now and looked him over.  
“Anyway, I think, I will be having you now. We can talk afterwards.” He dashed upstairs and Mycroft felt a bit sick when being thrown on his bed.  
“Your bed smells of your brother. Oh, love, what naughty things did you perform?” He smirked but then shook his head.  
“No, he just rested here and you made sure, he was safe. How cute! And boring!” He undressed Mycroft until he was fully naked. He once poked into Mycroft's little pouch.  
“You are the most adorable human I have ever had the good fortune to be with.” He kissed him again.  
“Oh!” The demon stopped everything. He just stared at Mycroft.  
“You are in love! And you have messed up! Oho!” He grinned and threw him on his front holding him down with his wrists crossed on his lower back.  
“Now tell me, Mycroft, what happened that you forgot all about poor Gregory?”

***

Sam and Dean really had cleaned and tidied up their room. Sam was very pleased but Dean wasn't. He wanted fast food and booze. Probably sex, but he wasn't really hopeful. Except for Ms Black there wasn't any female person. Well, what you call person. He pulled a face.  
“Let's find the kitchen, Sam.” Dean had even showered just to please the house-keeper. She had left quite the impression on him.  
“Yes, I am hungry, too. I am sure, I can throw something together.” He had showered, too. They had found clothes in the closet and they were even to their likings. Dean had just said, that Crowley did know them long enough to be able to do that.  
They walked downstairs and really found the kitchen. But now there were dwarfs. One of them reached up to Sam's knee. It really was weird. They got thrown out by the force of wooden spoons.  
“What now? I bet, we can't call a delivery-service.” Dean looked almost frightened. He sure would get bruises on his hand and arm.  
“Moose, Squirrel! What's the commotion?” Suddenly there was Crowley and Ms Black hovered behind him.  
“We were looking for food. We are humans and therefore hungry.” Dean said.  
“We are demons and hungry, too.” Crowley smirked, but then offered drinks.  
“Let's meet in the library. Sherlock is there, too. We will have some drinks and discuss the upcoming procedures.” They followed him.  
“Ms Black, where are the angels?” Crowley asked turning around and looking.  
“Castiel is sitting in Sam and Dean's room; he has just missed them. John is brooding on top of the tower. I believe, he isn't able to get back down.” She grinned. Crowley wasn't amused though and he slanted his eyes.  
“If you find it so amusing, why don't you take your broomstick and get him back down? Safely? Thank you!” She gave him the look, but obeyed.  
“You wouldn't want to miss this!” Crowley said grinning and ushered them over to a large window. And right he was. There was Ms Black on a broomstick and she was in the air.  
“Bloody hell!” Dean swore and stared. Sam's mouth stood open and his eyes found John on top of the tower. She had reached him by now and talked to him, but he kept shaking his head and still clung to the wall. She hovered in front of him.  
Dean turned his head.  
“Sherlock, come over here. You should see John riding on a broomstick!” Sherlock hadn't reacted to their presence. He had been reading a very interesting book and sipped his drink. But this comment now made him aware and woke him to some extent.  
“Broomstick?” He muttered, but stood and sauntered over. And then he stared at Ms Black who just grabbed John and pulled him onto her broomstick. He yelled and his hands were around the wooden thing.  
“Why is he afraid? He can fly. He has bloody wings.” Sam wondered.  
“Perhaps he just doesn't want to come down?” Dean said.  
“He wants to be left alone.” Sherlock said.  
“It can't be helped. We need to re-group.” Crowley added. Sherlock pushed to the front and opened the window. The large window led out onto a stone balcony.  
“Ms Black, if you please?” He politely called out. She turned around in mid-air and dropped John off right in front of Sherlock. Sherlock held him tight and glared at her when she raced off.  
“What happened to your wings, John?” Sherlock quietly asked.  
“I couldn't make it work. They feel like lead on my back. I don't know what's wrong.” Sherlock looked worried.  
“Let's get inside. We will figure it out.” He made John sit in an armchair. Inside he hoped the stupid things would just fall off, so he would get his John back.  
Soon enough Ms Black returned with Castiel by her side. Crowley clapped his hands together.  
“Tell the dwarfs to serve dinner, if you please?” She acknowledged him and left. Dean perked up. Then a loud gong was heard and Crowley led the group into a large dining-room. And he surprised them all because everyone got what he liked best.  
Sam had a salad and water by the side. Dean had fries and a big burger with beer. John had fish and chips with beer. Sherlock had pasta and a creamy cheese sauce with red wine by the side. Castiel didn't eat but got lots of booze in front of him. Crowley only had whiskey and Ms Black had wine. Probably. Candles were burning and a huge fire burnt in the fire-place.  
Crowley gave them some time to almost finish until he spoke.  
“I suggest, we collect all the data.” He moved his hand through the air and a brand-new MacBook Air appeared by Sherlock's side who suddenly looked very pleased. He quickly finished his meal and set up the computer. He kept sipping some wine by the side.  
“Now I suggest we all tell Sherlock what happened and why we are here. First of all, Moose and Squirrel.”  
“Crowley, please don't?” Sam just said while Dean was still eating.  
“Forgive me. We all are on one team, aren't we?” Crowley smiled at bit forced, but started again.  
“Sam and Dean then. Please let us know what happened back home. Everything about the dead corpses, the angels, whatever you found out.” Dean's mouth was stuffed and Sam sat up straight.  
“Castiel found several dead angels. But they weren't angels, not like the ones we had seen and met before. Their skin was different, their wings were different and they even smelled different. Plus, these angels were his friends. Anyway, we found a trace leading over here and decided to come to London. Then we have met. End of story.” Sherlock was typing furiously, asked a few more questions, but didn't gain more information than he already had.  
“Castiel?” Crowley looked at him. Cas cleared his throat and had another sip of his drink.  
“The angels we have found were angels I have never seen before. They are mentioned in the lore. They are known from aeons ago. They are being called in when something bad is coming up. Bad as in end of the world. But now they are dying and I don't know how that is even possible. An angel blade isn't supposed to kill them, nothing really is. Even though they were stabbed to death. I am absolutely clueless.”  
“I understand, you didn't know what they were. Is that correct?” Sherlock asked.  
“Yes, they seemed to be just normal, simple human vessels carrying regular angels. I mostly liked them all. I don't know why I couldn't recognise the truth.” He shrugged looking very helpless.  
“Sherlock?” Crowley pointed at him and Sherlock typed while talking.  
“I believe, it was these special angel things Castiel felt when being around John. Somehow, he triggered it. Anyway, we were called to a crime scene by DI Lestrade. There were wings painted on the ground; back then we thought of paint. Later another angel appeared in 221B and was killed by Castiel. Beforehand I found a black feather in the fire-place, but none of my experiments brought anything to light. I am not used to that.” Sherlock sighed.  
“John, perhaps you could describe how it felt when being triggered?” Crowley asked and John swallowed.  
“Well, since Castiel was around, I felt a bit off. I don't really know how to describe it. But when he made my bullet-wound disappear, it was tingly first, but then it itched like nothing I ever felt before. At the same time my wings grew out of my back. It didn't hurt. Since then I really try to control it, but I can't manage. I mean, I am not an actual angel. By now I can fly and I do really try not to damage too much, but I can't make them disappear like Cas here can. I could after they had just appeared, but now this ability seemed to have vanished somehow. They are always out in the open and that means I never will be able to live a normal life again. Never!” He finished his beer and Dean pushed a fresh one over to him.  
“Why were you stuck on the tower?” Sam asked and John blushed.  
“I felt paralysed. I couldn't move my wings. I was scared, I would fall down. They wouldn't do what I wanted.”  
“What about your skin?” Ms Black asked the question.  
“My skin?” John looked back at her.  
“Yes, the lore says the angel's skin is different from others, different from humans. So, you are a doctor, that much I was told. What about your skin?” She stared at him and John thought about it.  
“It does feel different. A bit. I don't bruise anymore. It's always warm.” John helplessly shrugged.  
“John's skin always was warm, but it was also softer. I offered to examine a feather and come to think of it again, I would like to take some blood, too.” He stared at John.  
“And what were the results?” Crowley asked.  
“There aren't any results because I only asked today. John didn't want me to experiment on him. Plus, I have no lab here.” He looked all innocent, but Crowley smirked.  
“John, I believe you should give us a feather and some blood.” Crowley said.  
“I hate to agree with him, but I think he is right.” Dean said and Sam nodded. Even Castiel agreed.  
“I will sacrifice a feather, too, to have a comparison. It should be somehow different from John's.”  
“But you won't pluck it from my wings, Sherlock. Castiel, you do it.” Sherlock paled considerably.  
“Fine. Whatever. You can just stay with Castiel anyway. I will be working for the next hours, perhaps days. Just leave me be.” He only murmured the words, but they were heard by everyone at the table.  
“Ms Black will show you the lab, Sherlock.”  
“Very good. Is there a phone? I would like to call my brother.” Crowley nodded.  
“I will set up a special connection for you. The phone won't be secure. I will be with you in half an hour.” Sherlock stood.  
“Thank you. Ms Black, let's go. I would like to have a look into the lab.”  
“Sure, please follow me.” The lab was in the basement and it was bloody cold. Sherlock shivered. The lab equipment was perfect though and Sherlock was sort of happy to be able to work with it. He rubbed his hands.  
“Very good, this is all very good. I will get the evidence and be right back. Perhaps you could manage a fire in here?”  
“Sure. Perhaps a warm companion in form of a hound?” Sherlock's face lightened up.  
“Yes, why not? I'd like that!” He had liked the experience with the hellhounds and he had nothing to fear from them. He had not made a deal and wasn't to be escorted to hell. Not now and not in ten years’ time. Plus, they or it would protect him from unwanted visitors.  
“Perfect, we will meet in front of the lab in half an hour. Collect your evidence and think about what else you want down here. I will bring the cuddly one for you and have a fire build.”  
“Thank you.”

***

Upstairs John stood and left the table. He went up to his room where Sherlock was already collecting his stuff.  
“Sherlock, please. I ...” Sherlock didn't even look up.  
“No, John. Get a grip on yourself and have Castiel pluck a feather and draw some blood. I am in my lab.” And gone he was.  
Right then Castiel entered the room. He sadly looked at John who sat on the bed and cried. His wings hung low. It was interesting how his wings showed his emotional state.  
He sat by his side and unfolded his wings. He rarely did it. He was no show-off, but he also knew what he was capable of. Now he only hoped it would work on John in his state. He pulled him close and closed his feathery cage around him.  
And he had been right. He felt John creep closer and then he started to sob and cry without holding back. Castiel kept holding him and used the opportunity to get the feather and some blood. John didn't even notice. In a mere second he brought it downstairs and was back with John. If he only wanted, he could be very stealthy.  
It took Castiel a few more minutes to understand the words John was uttering. And he kept repeating them over and over again.  
“Please reverse it. Please reverse it. Please reverse it. Please reverse it. Please reverse it. Please reverse it.”  
“John, if I knew how, I would do it at once. But I don't know. I don't even know how I triggered this. Our only chance is Sherlock in the lab and Sam and Dean checking the lore for something. And you have to come down. You have to manage your powers. Please?”  
John knew he sucked right now, but he couldn't help it. Since his wings had come out, everything was different, everything felt different. And he had no idea what to do about it. He wasn't able to control the feathery shit. And he felt the change inside his body. There was more to it than just the bloody wings. His pulse was beating faster, his skin felt different and his emotions went wild. He always had had a bad temper. But now? It was better being sent away by Sherlock than to hurt him. If he had tried to get a feather from him, he probably would have stopped him. Forcefully. He couldn't ever hurt him. He loved him. At least he knew what that meant.  
Castiel just kept holding John to calm him down. He was the most patient being ever. He drove everyone mad with it, especially Dean. But now it served him well. John needed exactly this. Calm and peace. And he would give it to him.


	7. The Beauty and the Beast

Mycroft shouted and swore for minutes until he was hoarse. Jalraran kept poking through his brain to gather the information he had been asking for. He was curious whom Mycroft liked so much, loved even. Plus, he needed to know why he had been suddenly so shocked. The demon could see it clearly, something had happened.  
He held him in his firm embrace and let him rage. He liked this human a bit too much to let him hurt himself. So, he just waited him out.  
Finally, he was only sobbing Greg's name. Jalraran moved the sweaty ginger hair off his face.  
“Talk to me, Mycroft. Is the favour for him?” By now Mycroft knew where he was and tried to sit up. Jalraran stuffed some pillows behind his back, so he could sit against the headrest.  
“No, it's not. And hand me the tissues, please.” He blew his nose and only then started to laugh hysterically about the fact that he was in bed, crying and with a demon.  
“I bloody well forgot the man I loved and who was in my bed that night. No wonder, I am alone.” He snorted.  
“Why did you forget about him? What happened?” Jalraran asked. He had seen something like that but wasn't able to understand what it meant. So, Mycroft recalled the events and remembered the call from the London Chapter House in the middle of the night. He had just disappeared into his office and started to work. So of course he blamed the Men of Letters. He looked at Jalraran.  
“The favour is purely for me and my revenge, I admit it. I do know about consequences and I don't care. I ...”  
“Oh, shut up, Myc! You know, I never would force a contract on you. Never! So, talk to me and I will do your bidding.”  
“Like a djinni?” Mycroft looked at him with a half-grin on his face. Jalraran smirked.  
“Sort of, yes. I won't wear a fez though or even turn blue.” Mycroft was able to laugh again.  
“OK, OK. It's about the Men of Letters. I really want to hurt them. I want to kill them and burn down their Chapter House except their library. I especially want to destroy Deborah Kingston and her bosses.”  
“Done.” Jalraran shrugged. Mycroft looked at him.  
“There is more. I need some answers.” Jalraran pulled him closer and savoured his warmth. Mycroft didn't mind.  
“Simply answers? What kind of answers? Just ask and I will tell you what I know.” Mycroft pulled up his legs and leant against the hard and demonic chest. And then he told him about John and Sherlock. He told him about John's new wings and the new angel. Jalraran listened all the time without interrupting.  
“These are interesting news, Mycroft. Like you, I have heard about these angels. And I remember once meeting one, but it was aeons ago. Long before God made you.” He sadly smiled.  
“And you say this human, John, became one of them? Just so?” He asked.  
“Just so? I don't know. Castiel felt all the time, that something was off about John. And he was right.”  
“By the way, what happened in your kitchen? I could smell the bones and ashes down there.” Mycroft shrugged and told him about the hunters and his brother, John and Castiel, as well as Crowley. He also let him know, that they all were hiding in Crowley's castle.  
“That was quite a good idea, Mycroft. I will have a look and let you know about their well-being. I will now go and take care of the Men of Letters. Not the library, I do remember. You should call that Gregory. He seems to be very important to you. Never mind dear old me.” Jalraran sighed and hugged Mycroft.  
“You will always be in my heart, Jalraran.” Mycroft looked up at him and touched the screwed horns.  
“No, I will always be the one who takes on your revenge, my little human.” He kissed Mycroft and pressed him back into the mattress.  
“Just once more, Jalraran. Please? Just one more time.” Mycroft begged and spread his legs. And Jalraran complied.

***

When Mycroft woke, he was alone. He was able to smell him, but he was gone. Outside it was almost dawn and the sun was coming up. He slowly walked downstairs and got the newspaper. The headline told him everything he needed to know. He smirked. So much for Deborah Kingston and some bunch of colleagues.  
“Well done indeed.” Later that day there were images in his head showing him Sherlock playing with a hellhound. He didn't mind as long as he was OK.  
Only then he reached out for his phone and called Gregory. He didn't pick up. He sighed. Then he asked Anthea about Greg's whereabouts. He waited at his doorstep and Greg simply stepped around him opening his door. It was closed into his back without a word. Mycroft stayed where he was. It started to rain and he stayed. He was soaked to the bones, but he didn't leave. A thunderstorm lightened up London, but Mycroft stayed.

***

“God, why is he so stubborn?” Greg asked no one special since no one else but him was there.  
“And why is he even here? He forgot about me! He left me behind, he didn't call for days and now this? Oh, fuck him!”  
“I will probably get arrested, if I let him freeze to death or drown in the rain on my doorstep.” He looked out of the window and found him still there. He ripped open his door.  
“Oh, for God's sake, get in!”  
Mycroft had leant against the door. He was exhausted and now he almost fell inside. He looked up at Greg from down below. He shivered and his teeth shattered.  
Greg reached out and helped him up. His palm burnt on Mycroft's skin. Fire burnt in his eyes. Greg just pushed him into the bath and banged the door after him.  
“Shower and get warm. There are towels and comfies in there. You'll find me in the living-room.” Mycroft shed his suit right where he stood and climbed into the shower. Hot water rushed over his freezing body until he felt better. He found towels that hurt his skin. They were old and rough and not the quality he was used to. He pulled a face and took the comfies as being told. They weren't any better, but he dressed into them. It was those or staying half-naked and only clad in a towel.  
He looked ridiculous. The trackpants were too short on him and the t-shirt way too wide. There was even bare skin right where his pouch showed. He had to close his eyes. This was so embarrassing, but it also was his fault only.  
He deeply breathed several times and then opened the door. He knew the floor-plan, of course, because he had been watching Greg. He entered the living-room and found Greg standing by the window. When he heard him, he turned around. His eyes roamed over his body and then met his eyes. He carefully made a step forward.  
“Stay where you are and just explain yourself.” Greg spoke quietly, but Mycroft heard every word.  
“I am really not sure how to explain what happened. I am very sure about the fact, that you won't believe a single word. But I am telling you anyway. I don't mind your level of security or what not. I don't care. So here it is.” And Greg listened to everything Mycroft had to say.  
It actually would explain a lot.  
“And if you still care enough, I can also show you. I can take you to Scotland and show you everything.” Greg pressed his forehead against the cold glass of the window and closed his eyes. He turned around after a few minutes.  
“This must be the best explanation for having been tossed away. It's much too complicated for just that and you would never create such a nonsense, if it weren't true. God, I can't believe I am saying this, but I do believe you.” Mycroft's head came up.  
“You do?” He asked and hope returned.  
“Yes, I do. Still, I am pissed because you haven't called.” Mycroft carefully moved up.  
“And you have every right to be. Whatever you want. Whatever you need.” Greg didn't stop him.  
“Until the next crisis?” Greg asked.  
“You know all about it.” Greg really did and he sighed. Finally, he nodded and reached out for him.  
“I missed you a lot, you know? I didn't understand. I couldn't reach you.” Mycroft held him and pressed his body against Greg's.  
“I am here now and asking for forgiveness.” He mumbled into his ear not daring to kiss him yet.  
“So I can see. And you look ridiculous, by the way.” Mycroft smiled.  
“I don't care. And I could always get rid of them.” Only then Greg looked into his eyes.  
“Not yet, it's too soon. And I want to take a picture to have something to remind you of what will happen, if you don't behave properly.”  
“I see. Go on then. I'll let you.”

***

Later they sat on the sofa and Greg held Mycroft's hand.  
“What are you going to do next? Go to Scotland, too?” But Mycroft shook his head.  
“No, I will be needed here.” Greg's mobile rang and he swore. But he was on duty, so he answered it.  
“Donovan, what's up? Terrorist attack where? God, OK. No, I am on my way. I'll meet you there in half an hour.” He hung up and looked at Mycroft.  
“I am sorry, but I have to go.” He stood and dashed into the bath to have a quick wash and brush his teeth. Mycroft knew where he was heading. The ruins of The Men of Letters Chapter House. He smirked. Upon Greg's return he stood.  
“Don't waste too much time on this investigation. It won't be worth it.”  
“What do you know about this? Oh, wait. You haven't told me everything.” Greg rubbed his neck and sighed.  
“An associate of mine arranged it. Trust me, when I am telling you, that nothing else has been damaged or killed but the things needed to. And forget I have ever said this.” He looked dead serious.  
“I really need to go now. Will I see you later?” Greg asked getting into his coat already.  
“Yes, of course. Come to my place after you are done. I will be there and provide food and comfort.” Both men smiled and then Greg left.  
Mycroft sighed and relaxed. He still looked ridiculous, but he felt much better. He called for his driver and then collected his ruined clothes from the bath.

***

Greg jumped into his car and rode up to the large and old building Donovan had told him about. He had to park rather far off the scene because the fire-brigade was still working. What was rather odd was a singled-out part of the Victorian building seemed not be affected by the flames at all. The rest was almost burnt to ashes.  
“Boss, over here!” Donovan called out and Lestrade joined her. He also saw another group of people hovering close by.  
“Who are they? Spooks?” He demanded to know, but Donovan shook her head.  
“No, they claim to have worked there.” They looked at each other.  
“Huh. Well. Whose building is this?” Lestrade asked.  
“It's a private organisation, has to do with history and science. I don't know more. The director or whatever you call it has yet to be found.”  
“And its name?” She shrugged and ruffled through some papers.  
“Rumours say “Men of Letters”. Officially they are the “Association of Science and Victorian Heritage”.” She looked at him and he smirked.  
“Yeah, right. Sure. Isn't there any janitor, manager or someone responsible?” Donovan shook her head.  
“No.” Both looked at the small flames, that were still burning around some parts, as weird as it sounded. The fire-brigade still worked all over the place, but the flames kept coming back up.  
“What's in there?” Lestrade asked.  
“Where?” Donovan asked. He gave her the look.  
“Oh, the library. It's the only part not on fire. Obviously. I don't know why.”  
“The library? It should burn the hottest with all the books and papers!” Lestrade was irritated. He kept staring at the fire.  
“And why am I here anyway? If this is a terror-attack, where is MI fuck whatnot?” He looked around.  
“The Super asked for you plus your team.” She said.  
“Really? I wonder why.” Right then parts of the building fell into itself. Ashes and burning pieces flew all over the street. Donovan and Lestrade dove behind their car and waited it out. Everybody was covered in dirt and snoot when they got up again. The library was still standing.  
A limousine pulled up behind the lines and the group of people who had evacuated the building walked over. An older man left the car and talked to the group. Some of them shrugged, but one kept talking. Lestrade saw the Super appear and approach the man who didn't acknowledge him at all.  
After he had finally being talked to, he turned around and his eyes found Greg.  
“Lestrade! Over here!” Greg walked over and not very fast. He kept talking to Donovan over his shoulder.  
“This is Sir Oliver Mac Allen. He owns all this. Tell him what we know so far.” Lestrade looked at the man who returned the stare without a greeting. Lestrade was used to such kind of behaviour and ignored it completely.  
“Since I have only just arrived on the scene, I know nothing so far. I need to re-group with my team and look into the fire-brigade's results. Anyway, I will gladly call you. Do you have a card?” He politely smiled and held out his hand. Sir Mac Allen just snorted and went back into his car. A member of the group handed over a card. The car rode off and Lestrade wondered what kind of people he was dealing with.  
He looked at the card. It only had a number on it. No name or address. He sighed and looked at the Super.  
“I'll be with my team, Sir.” He glared at him.  
“You'll better be, Lestrade.” And gone he was.  
“Fuck you, too.” Greg murmured and went back to Sally.

***

Greg spent the next hours talking to the fire-brigade and to the employees at the scene. He read tons of reports and googled the institution and the building. A lot of weird things came up. Suddenly his stomach rumbled. He checked his watch and sighed. And then he called Mycroft.  
“Do you still want to have dinner with me?” He asked when Mycroft picked up.  
“Very much so, Gregory. My place?” He offered again.  
“I'd love to. Want me to bring take-away?” Greg asked.  
“No, I will order. Don't you worry about anything. Just be ready. I'll have you picked up in 20 minutes.”  
“Thank you, Myc. See you soon.” They hung up and Greg quickly hurried towards the restrooms to wash up a bit. His clothes couldn't be helped. But he knew that Mycroft wouldn't mind.  
Right on time he stood in front of the Yard and waited. A sleek black car appeared and stopped by his side. The driver got out and opened the door for him.  
“Thank you.” Greg sat in the back and sighed. This was nice. Even though it was also weird. He was being watched over the rear-mirror, but he didn't mind. The guy looked out of place though and he smelled funny. Not bad, but strange. Or Greg had spent too much time by the fire.  
Soon they arrived at Mycroft's place and his door was opened again.  
“Mr Holmes is expecting you, DI Lestrade.” The man's rough voice washed over him and he felt strange again.  
“Thanks.” He threw a last glance back, but he was gone already. Greg shook his head. How had he done that? But then he just climbed up the few stairs to the door and knocked. The door was ripped open after a few seconds and there he was.  
“Greg, come in, please. You look hellish.” He got pulled inside and the door was closed. Greg got rid of his shoes and followed him into the flat.  
“I was close enough to the fire.” Greg grinned and Mycroft smiled back.  
“You sure smell like a barbecue.” Greg cast his eyes.  
“God, I am sorry. I should have showered and changed before coming over.”  
“No, no. I wanted to see you as soon as possible. Why don't you go upstairs and freshen up? I laid out some clothes for you.” Greg looked at him.  
“Thank you. I'll be back right away.” Greg wondered, if he would find equally weird clothes that didn't really fit him, so Mycroft could have his own picture for blackmailing in revenge. But what he found after the shower were brands and first-class comfy clothes. Greg had never owned comfy clothes that posh and he admired the fabric and the feeling on his skin. He happily hopped downstairs.  
“These are wonderful! Thank you, Myc!” Greg knew he had bought them for him, because these were clearly not Mycroft's size.  
“Never mind. It's the least I could do for you. Expect feeding you.” He pointed to several containers from a famous Chinese restaurant, that actually didn't do take-away as far as Greg knew.  
“Oh, this is nice, really nice.” He plonked on a kitchen-chair and pulled a container close.  
“What are you doing?” Mycroft asked pulling plates and bowls out of the cupboard.  
“Eating? That's what this is for, I believe?” He waved the chopsticks around.  
“You are not eating out of the container. Please, use the bowls and plates and move into the dining-room.” Greg stood again.  
“Yes, Sir.” He mock-saluted him, but carried it over. Mycroft followed him and also brought a bottle of wine. He sat by Greg's side and looked at him.  
“I am sorry. I didn't mean to order you around.” Greg smirked.  
“Not here you don't.” Mycroft's smile in return was almost shy.  
“I just wanted us to have a nice and cosy dinner.” Greg took his hand.  
“And here we are doing exactly that. Don't worry, OK?” Mycroft relaxed and filled the bowls. Greg already shoved two dumplings into his mouth. And Mycroft smiled. This was so domestic. And it was something he never had with anyone.  
“So, what about this morning?” Mycroft carefully asked. Greg looked up.  
“Myc, I know you know already. You told me, you were involved and this is me describing rather nicely, that you have someone set this building on fire.” Mycroft glared at his rice and picked a piece of lamb out, just as Sherlock did. Greg didn't say so.  
“I only wanted to know how your day was. That's all.” He delicately put the lamb into his mouth.  
“Then you should just say so and I will tell you.” Greg seriously replied.  
“Forgive me. I am not good with this.” Greg smiled and poked him with his chopstick.  
“I love you anyway.” Mycroft just stared at him and suddenly felt very, very warm. And also very, very bad thinking of what he had done with Jalraran.  
“He is a good one. Don't spoil this, Myc.” Jalraran was in his head and it made Mycroft smile.  
“Well, I heard the library was the only piece, that didn't get destroyed? Is that really true?”  
“Yes, it is. Strange, isn't it? And I got brushed off by some Sir Mac Allen or what not. Heard of him?” Greg shoved another dumpling into his mouth.  
“He is a male bitch. Conservative sod, horrible piece of the human kind.” Mycroft sighed.  
“So, you did stumble over the Men of Letters?” Greg asked looking up. He sucked a piece of meat off his chopstick.  
“Why?” Mycroft replied with another question and shrugged.  
“Just so.” Greg replied with a questioning expression on his handsome face. Mycroft then placed his chopsticks on the table. Greg reached for his glass of wine.  
“You won't find anything. No traces, no evidence. Wait for a few more days until you tell exactly that. Don't poke around too much, especially not with the Men of Letters. They are dangerous. I don't want anything to happen to you.” Greg slanted his eyes.  
“You really have something to do with this. You burnt down the building.” Greg was surprised. He had listened to Mycroft before telling him the truth, but he really couldn't believe it back then and thought he was pulling his leg. He reconsidered his opinion now looking at him.  
“Yes.” Mycroft freely admitted it and it surprised Greg. Obviously, he had decided to trust him with everything. He repeated his confession. He trusted him. Greg suddenly felt very warm.  
“And you want me to hold back and be careful.” Mycroft nodded.  
“Does it have to do with the angel?” Mycroft's head shot up. He had totally forgotten, that it had been Greg who had brought Sherlock onto the case.  
“Not directly, no. But let me tell you, that Sherlock and John won't be around for some time.”  
“What? But they are OK? Are they safe?” Greg had straightened up and glared at Mycroft.  
“They are safe.” Mycroft answered. Greg raised a brow.  
“But they aren't OK. God. I don't know what to say. I just thought, you'd trust me. You just told me; you literally burnt their so-called Chapter House. And now you won't tell me shit about Sherlock and John?” He wanted to get up, but Mycroft tightly grabbed his wrist.  
“I really don't want to mess this up, Gregory. That's why I already told you, I am involved. Obviously, it wasn't enough. Obviously, you couldn't get the information into your head. I will make it very clear right now. But if I really tell you everything, you will run screaming.” He looked dead serious, but kept staring into Greg's eyes.  
“Try me.” It was all Greg said.

***

Sherlock had worked for hours and collected lots of data. He worked everything into his excel file. Only then he ruffled his hair. He was tired. The chamber was still warm and the hellhound sat close by. And now he even huffed by his head. Sherlock turned around and stared up at his huge head. His hands came up and he smiled.  
“Are you bored, too? I have done everything I could. What to do now? I am tired.” He leant forward and sighed. Then he yawned and buried his face into the fur. The hound growled and stood. It slowly moved over to the fire-place and settled down.  
“You want me to follow?” Sherlock slowly moved to its side. Then he sat down, too, leaning against the huge body. He once yawned and closed his eyes. And then he slept huddled against the hellhound.  
And he slept deeply for several hours. He slowly woke from the rumbling beneath him. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. Deep brown eyes stared at him and a huge tongue carefully licked his face. Sherlock grinned.  
“Are you hungry, my lovely? Did you miss your feeding because of me, hm?” The hound growled and suddenly there were pictures in Sherlock's head showing him steaks and Ms Black.  
“Come on then. Let's see, what I can find for you.” He stood and swayed for a second. He reached up and held on to the beast's collar. Only then he started to walk after a few seconds.  
“Perhaps I should find something to eat, too.” Sherlock murmured while the dog pulled him outside. They walked to the kitchen and it was empty. Sherlock opened the fridge and handed over a big steak for the hound.  
“Here, my lovely. I don't even know your name.” The steak was taken and a name popped up inside his head.  
“Hannah? Really?” The dog snorted and growled. It actually talked to him, because more words popped up inside his head. Sherlock laughed.  
“Yes, I know. Mine isn't any better.” Now Sherlock stared into the fridge, but didn't find anything he wanted. He didn't feel like cooking. He closed the door and at first got a cookie for dogs from the big bag he had seen before. It got devoured, too. Only then he searched the cupboards for himself. He found fruits and energy bars and ate those.  
“You know, Hannah, I really would like to talk to my brother.” He looked at the hound.  
“I didn't forget my promise, Sherlock. But you need to use this.” Sherlock turned around.  
“Crowley?” He also looked at a brass bowl filled with several herbs and other weird things.  
“You need some blood, too.” Sherlock sighed and took a knife.  
“And where do I dial?” He asked making Crowley laugh.  
“God, I really like you. Where did Mycroft hide you all these years?” Sherlock sliced his skin and his blood dropped into the bowl.  
“I have my own business. Well, until I got called in on the angel kill. Then everything became odd.” Crowley smiled.  
“Now just concentrate on your brother. You will pop up in his head and you can talk until your blood is gone.” Sherlock looked into the bowl and saw his blood bubble.  
“I see.” He sighed and concentrated. And then there was his brother's voice.  
“Sherlock?” He asked.  
“The one and only. Am I interrupting something? I could slice my arm any time again later, if you are busy right now.”  
“No, no, no! Just no!” Mycroft replied and Sherlock wondered, if he could hear more. And then he just could.  
“Are these sheets? Who is with you?” Sherlock demanded to know and then he grinned.  
“Is it Lestrade?” He asked with glee in his voice.  
“That's none of your business, brother-mine. How are you? Are you OK?” Mycroft sounded worried.  
“Yes, I am. I am sleeping with Hannah, the hellhound, and I am eating. I am having a jolly good time. What do you think, Mycroft? This is insane, everything is. John can't get his powers under control. We can't do anything up here.”  
“I am not asking about the hellhound, I really don't. John worries me though. He is so controlled and strong mostly. What about the Winchesters?” He sounded curious by now.  
“They are trying the best they can. But without more input, we can't do any research. Crowley gave me a lab to examine the feather and other evidence we have found, but nothing so far. Castiel got some of John's blood, but I don't have any results yet.”  
“He let you experiment on him?” Mycroft asked and Sherlock snorted.  
“God, no, of course not. He freaked out and we fought. That's why I am with hellhound Hannah and not with him. He is so weak and whiny right now. I just can't stand it.”  
“But I thought you love him?”  
“I do. I don't know what to do with him right now.” Sherlock stared into the bubbling mess. It lessened considerably.  
“Listen, Sherlock. Let me tell you what happened here. The Men of Letters Chapter House burnt to ashes except for the library. Gregory is on the case. You won't be bothered by Ms Kingston anymore.”  
“By anymore you mean never again, am I right?” Sherlock asked and Mycroft sighed.  
“Yes, of course you are.” Sherlock heard the smugness.  
“You waited with throwing her on the wooden pile until she paid me, didn't you?” Mycroft laughed.  
“What do you think, little brother?” A break came up until Sherlock spoke again.  
“I miss you, Myc. I want my life back. I will never complain about being bored again; I promise.” He only whispered the words.  
“I miss you, too, Sherlock. I will do anything needed. I promise.” The connection broke and Sherlock angrily wiped over his eyes. Crowley had long left, but Hannah was still there and huffed against his face.

***

Upstairs Castiel had left John, because he wasn't able to help. Perhaps he needed to be alone for a bit. John rested on his front, because he wasn't able to stay on his back for long because of his wings. He wished he could rip them off. He turned his head when it knocked.  
“What?” He asked and Dean entered his room. John was surprised. Dean had never looked out for him. But here he was. John sat up.  
“Your wings. They have changed.” Dean said and placed a six-pack on the night-stand.  
“Have they? I didn't notice. How?” John didn't see it.  
“Well, at the beginning they were white with a shade of ice-blue. Like your eyes became when being upset. But now they look like well-washed off-white. Unhealthy.” Dean shrugged.  
“That describes pretty much how I feel right now.” Dean opened a bottle and shoved it into John's hand. Then he took another for himself.  
“Let me tell you something, John. You really need to get a grip on yourself. I know, you have never encountered the things we have faced lately. Sam and I have for more than a decade. We have lost a lot of people we loved including our family. I have been to hell and so has Sam. We always fought everything that passed our way. We fought and killed or loved and saved. Don't ask, it's too complicated. But believe me, this is just normal and you have to live with it. Somehow you have to manage. All this doesn't end when you are going back to London. They are still out there and you know it.” John had listened to him and now rubbed over his tired eyes.  
“I just feel so helpless, Dean. I am not used to feeling helpless. I can't manage these bloody wings. I don't want them.”  
“I was told you are a soldier and a doctor. That's amazing. I mean, you must be smart and wild. And you have found Sherlock. You love him. Everyone is able to see it. And he loves you back. Isn't that enough reason to fight for?” Dean finished his beer and so did John. Dean opened two more and just waited for John to talk.  
“I was a soldier and a doctor. Now I am a crippled part-time doctor. I am helping Sherlock with his cases, but whom am I kidding? He doesn't need my help. I am just some odd soundboard.” John sighed but smiled.  
“Genius needs audience.” Sam entered the room and grabbed a beer, too.  
“Cas has healing powers. What about you?” Dean asked and John shrugged.  
“I don't know. He didn't talk about it. We only ever tried things with my wings.” Then he quietly laughed.  
“You know, how that sounded, right?” Dean laughed, too.  
“You are pervs.” Sam added, but laughed, as well.  
“But we saw how you shielded Sherlock during the duplicate's attack. Sherlock was bleeding, I saw it for a few seconds. But after the fight was over, he was all fine. Well, perhaps not fine fine but much better.” Dean looked at John.  
“You are right. I didn't remember, because it just happened naturally. I did not wish for it or whatever, it just happened.” John replied very thoughtful.  
“We could try something. Perhaps it works with John, too. He is a natural healer.” Dean took his blade and sliced into his arm. John hissed and Sam just shook his head. Dean held up his arm for John.  
“Try to heal it. Go on. Use your instinct and not your med-kit.” John stared at the blood running over Dean's arm and he thought, he was able to smell it. He saw several shades of red and several layers of skin being opened. He swallowed.  
Very slowly he reached out and took Dean's arm. His free hand hovered about the wound and he imagined stopping the blood flow. His fingers were tingling and he took it as a good sign. Afterwards he imagined unmarred skin and there it was.  
“Hah!” Dean said and smirked.  
“You are insane.” John quietly said and let go of him.  
“Get used to it.” Sam added.  
“What did you do?” Dean asked. John considered the question.  
“I imagined things and they happened.” Then he smiled and his face lightened up.  
“Oh ...” He looked at Dean.  
“Exactly. I may not be the brightest man on earth but ...” He looked rather smug.  
“I need to try at once. Let's go outside.” He stood and already moved. But he bumped against the door-frame and there were scratches and a piece fell off.  
“Ms Black will torch his wings, if he keeps doing this.” Dean whispered and Sam just nodded. They quickly followed John.  
Outside John spread his wings and relaxed. Then he imagined folding them neatly and shove them beneath his body on his back. And gone they were. It didn't even hurt. John moved his shoulders and nothing happened. He moved around a bit and they stayed where they were. It seemed, that his first trials with them had been working on pure instinct and hadn't been controlled at all.  
“Now back out again!” Dean called out. John imagined unfolding them and there they were. He repeated this several times and it worked perfectly. He beamed at the Winchesters.  
“I need to show Sherlock. Any idea where he is?” He looked at them and they shrugged.  
“We haven't seen him since he disappeared into the lab. I think, Ms Black borrowed him a hound.” Dean shuddered and John raised a brow. He wondered, if Sherlock wanted to take it home. Then he wondered, if he wanted him to come home. He sighed.  
“I'll go and have a look. Thanks a lot, guys!” He disappeared inside the castle and the brothers stayed outside for a bit.

***

John found Sherlock while he still kept staring into the bowl. The hound sat by his side and watched over him. John entered the room clearing his throat. The hound turned its head and growled at him, but it didn't sound too threatening.  
“Come in, John. I have just talked to Mycroft.” Slowly John came closer and stood by Sherlock's other side.  
“So, there is a net?” He asked and only now Sherlock looked up.  
“What? No, there isn't. I used magic.”  
“Of course you did.” John just nodded and eyed the hound.  
“Where are your wings?” Sherlock suddenly asked.  
“So you noticed. Well, I talked to Dean and he rubbed it in. I finally managed and it was rather simple.”  
“So, Dean managed what Castiel couldn't? Interesting.” Hannah snorted and Sherlock snorted, too.  
“Dean understood me on a base human level.” John said.  
“You mean a base male level.” Sherlock answered. John straightened up.  
“I came here to talk to you, to see where we stand. Before I entered, I wondered, if you would like to keep her, if you would like to keep me.” Sherlock looked shocked.  
“John, I ...” But John interrupted him.  
“No, Sherlock. I want you to think about it, really think about it. Because I can't go on like this.” Sherlock was speechless. What had caused this? What had he done now? He watched John leave and he didn't stop him. His lips were pressed together and he became angry. Hannah rumbled, too.

***

John found Castiel brooding in the Winchester's room. He looked up when John entered the room with his wings gone. He smiled up at him.  
“You managed? How?” He quietly asked.  
“Dean made me.” John shrugged and explained a bit.  
“What about Sherlock?” Castiel asked and John sat down by his side.  
“I have no idea. He prefers a hellhound to me. He behaves like a brat. I don't know what's wrong with him. I asked him to make a decision. Me or not me. He might choose the hellhound, as far as I know.” John snorted.  
“You can always come with us, you know? I don't like to leave you behind with your new abilities.”  
“You want me to come to Kansas?” John asked.  
“Why not? The place is big enough and there are many empty rooms. I am sure Sam and Dean would like to have you over.”  
“Will you be there?” John asked.  
“Not all the time, no.”  
“Where are you then? Can't I come with you?” John asked again.  
“I am not sure, if you are allowed into heaven, John. I mean, you aren't a real angel.” John's eyes became icy all of a sudden again.  
“Yes, I forgot. I am an abomination. Right. Forget it, Castiel. Perhaps I will dig myself a hole and stay there.” He walked out of the room.  
“John, wait!” Castiel stood, too.  
“Leave me alone!” Castiel didn't follow John. What was happening here?  
John found Ms Black in the library.  
“Ms Black, do you have a minute?” John politely asked. She turned around and looked at him.  
“Yes, Dr Watson. What's up? Do you need anything?” She came closer.  
“Yes, I actually do. By any chance, may I have a separate room? Anything?” He asked looking at her. She raised a brow.  
“Trouble in paradise? Did he bring in Hannah?” John didn't answer.  
“Well, let's see. Yes, come on. I believe another wing might be in order, too.” He just followed her and when they arrived, it was another beautiful room and his things where already there. John didn't question this.  
“Thanks a lot. Don't expect me for dinner tonight.” She just nodded and closed the door from the outside. She needed to talk to Crowley. The King of Hell had brought a real soap-opera back home and she had no idea how to deal with it. These weren't only humans. No, they were Hunters, two angels and one very special human. She wasn't sure yet what to call Sherlock. But he felt him communicate with Hannah and all the other hellhounds were practically baring their stomachs to him and purr into his ear. She didn't like it at all.  
That's why she went to hell and walked over the aisle leading to the King's throne. It was a matter, that couldn't wait.  
“Ms Black, what's the matter? The castle still standing?” He sat on his throne and grinned. A long contract he had been reading was in his hand. It was half rolled up and made from old parchment. Some demons and human helpers were in here, but she didn't mind.  
“Yes, it does. But I need a bit of your time, Your Majesty. The situation is not good.” Crowley dropped the parchment and sent everybody away. Only then he stood.  
“Let's sit over there, Ms Black.” They walked over to a table where a decanter with blood and some raw meat wings were on offer. Ms Black smiled and Crowley poured some blood for her.  
“Thanks a lot. It's much needed.” She sighed and delicately sipped a bit.  
“Tell me then, what's going on back home. Who is killing whom?” And she told him everything, she had both witnessed and heard in their heads. Crowley rubbed his hands and grinned.  
“That's all very interesting. But there are no results regarding the abomination.” He sighed.  
“Do you want me to make them stay or shall I let them go?” Crowley took a snack.  
“No, let them go. I can visit everywhere. It was a try to make them find the solution together. It didn't work. But I want to give it a last try. Let's see who breaks first. I believe, you have to hold out for about two to three more days, Ms Black. I am sure you will manage.” Crowley stood and so did Ms Black.  
“I sure will.” She nodded and left with a swirl of her black, long dress. He admired her. She was very old and bound to his castle. She was loyal and the hellhounds loved her. It seemed, they also loved Sherlock Holmes. He wondered, what was special about the younger Holmes. The whole Holmes bunch was a bit weird, had been for decades.  
Of course, Crowley knew about the association between Mycroft Holmes and Jalraran. He found it amusing. Such a powerful being having an affair with a human. Well, it happened repeatedly. He smirked.  
He had also heard about the fire at the London Chapter House. Of course, he knew who was responsible for that. The thing with the library though was splendid, he liked that. Of course, he had taken care of Ms Kingston's soul. She was having a lava bath with Dr Hess, the Headmistress, right now.  
Ms Black had been right; it was quite the soap.

***

John really didn't appear for dinner. Sam and Dean sat already at the table when Sherlock arrived with Hannah at his heels. Dean didn't like it and Sam didn't look very pleased, as well.  
“Where I grew up dogs weren't allowed at the dinner-table.” Dean said and Hannah let out a low growl. Sherlock petted her head.  
“No worries, my lovely. Where he grew up, there weren't any dinner-tables. There were shabby motel-rooms.” Dean shut up and poured a drink. Hannah sat on Sherlock's free side where normally John would have been. The food was already on the table and Sherlock even ate. He still felt rather good after having talked to his brother. He was a bit worried about John, but he just had to find his middle again. Sherlock wasn't able to change the facts. John had to cope with it. Sherlock could be there for him, but he couldn't stand the moping and brooding. He could do all that perfectly by himself, thank you very much. He poured wine and drank.  
“What about your work, Sherlock?” Sam finally asked being the reasonable one, as usual. Boring. But he still liked him, because he was different. Not a pure brute like his brother. Plus, he had given him a good time.  
“I did examine the feather and also John's blood. I found things I have never seen before, incomparable with things known to me. So, no results there. What about you?”  
“I studied the lore some more. I have read several books, but found nothing. I am sorry. Dean?” Dean glared at his steak and slowly cut off a piece. It was fantastic and it calmed him down, good meat always did.  
“I just couldn't read anymore, so I went to talk to John. I showed him how to channel his powers, how to make them work. He is able to heal, like Castiel can. He is also able to handle his wings. I hoped, you two could be together and be happy again. He wanted to see you right away. What happened, Sherlock?” Only now Dean looked up.  
“Oh, he came and saw me. But he still was a in a weird mood. I mean, I can't change all this. It seems everybody expects me to do so. Only I can't. He has to deal with it or stay away.” Sherlock was his stubborn self.  
“Is that what you told him?” Sam asked being shocked. Sherlock just nodded and drank some more.  
“I think, he will be coming abroad with us. He could learn to use his skills fighting against evil. We could need a second hand when Castiel takes off without a word.” Dean smiled.  
“You know, just do that. He will like it. He needs work to do and that way he could throw off some built-up aggressions.” Sherlock simply agreed, even though he was pissed on the inside. He would never show it though.  
“What will you be doing?” Sam asked Sherlock.  
“I will return to Baker Street. I will keep taking cases. I will do what I always did.” He shrugged. The hound whined and he turned his head towards her.  
“Perhaps he will let you visit, my lovely.” Dean almost choked on his steak. Sam downed his water and then a drink.  
“I am sorry, all this didn't work out. With all our skills combined I really thought, we could achieve something.” Sam looked rather sad and Sherlock knew he also meant John's change. He still liked him and smiled over the table.  
“So, we will just drop the weird angel business?” Dean asked incredulously and looked between them.  
“What would you suggest, Dean? How would you proceed from here?” Sherlock asked. Sometimes the simple mind could have the most astonishing ideas. He didn't say it out loud though.  
“We just keep going.” He shrugged and Sherlock just looked at him.  
“That's it? You want to stay here forever? Leave your home? Hope for some new events you could examine?” Sherlock prodded. Dean didn't answer, but his face darkened.  
“Dean, let's go home and take John with us for a while. He needs the break.” Sam looked pleadingly at Sherlock.  
“I suppose he does. Let's talk to Crowley for a last time and leave the day after tomorrow.” They all agreed and Sherlock left with Hannah on his heels.

***

Sam left soon after Sherlock and said something about a resume. Dean collected some left-overs for John as well as some booze. Then he dared asking the maid, which apparently was some sort of low-level demon, to get Ms Black.  
“Mr Winchester, what's the matter?” She appeared rather quickly and he at once stood.  
“I am sorry for disturbing you, but I want to see Dr Watson. John. He hasn't had dinner and I want to tell him about our plans.”  
“Follow the light.” She pointed at a little light and Dean thought back about the one time he got hit by a bloody fairy with boobs. He once swallowed and just followed the light. Ms Black smirked at his back.  
Dean found John's room and knocked on his door. John had some classic music playing and was already in comfy clothes.  
“Dean, come in.” John actually was happy, that someone came and looked for him. Plus, he brought food and drinks.  
“You haven't been downstairs. I was worried. A bit. Plus, I wanted to tell you about the talk we had. Me, Sam and Sherlock.” He filled two tumblers with whiskey and handed one to John who expectantly looked at him.  
“We officially invite you over, John. Sam and I do. You are welcome to stay with us as long as you like. Castiel will be there at times, too. It will be a place without windows though. A bunker. Well, you should know about bunkers. But we have a shooting-range, a fitness-room, loads of equipment and tons of books. Probably some old medical books, as well.”  
“That's really nice of you. How fast do you want to leave? I have to talk to the hospital to get some time off. I don't really want to lose my job.” John seriously said.  
“John, you have to realise, that you can't really work with those wings on your back.” Dean said.  
“But why not?” Dean snorted.  
“I bet your government has secret labs, too? They will get you and make you disappear. Then they will pluck the feathers from your wings and finally they will pluck your wings from your body. And they will keep you alive while doing so.” John swallowed thinking of Baskerville.  
But would Sherlock allow this to happen? Would Sherlock even know about it? Would Mycroft even bother telling him? And would Sherlock still care about him? Hadn't they just broken up? He felt a bit sick and drank some more.  
“You are right. I will just send a letter of resignation.”  
“What about Sherlock? I thought, you were happy together.” John sadly smiled.  
“We were, very much so. Until the wings happened and all the weird stuff occurred.” Dean topped their drinks.  
“To the weird stuff!” John grinned and they clinked glasses.

***

Sherlock took Hannah into his bedroom and she enjoyed the experience. No one had ever taken her places. She loved Sherlock; she really did. She also knew, he had to leave again. She was sad already.  
Sherlock sensed her being uneasy and finally managed to see the pictures in her head again.  
“Oh, my lovely. Don't be sad. I am sure, I will be allowed to visit. But you see, my flat is too small to keep you there. Plus, you would be all alone. No other hounds or things to eat.” She placed her big head on the bed by his side and at once his hand was buried in her fur.  
Suddenly there was a picture of a very small hound in his head plus a very old book. He looked at her.  
“Are you telling me, you could change into a dog? Some sort of normal looking dog?” She growled positively.  
“Is it reversible?” She didn't answer, but nudged him.  
“I see. I really do.” Sherlock would love to take her home with him. Then she could sleep in his bed. He smiled.  
“But still, there would be only you, no other dog or animal. Just me.” She licked his hand.  
“OK, OK, I will talk to Crowley.” Only then she let go of him and he went to take a shower. He returned in comfy clothes and climbed into bed. Hannah settled in front of the door after she had breathed into the fire-place to ignite some flames. Sherlock laughed, he loved this.


	8. Another Change

Mycroft woke and Greg was by his side. Even though it felt different, more like Sherlock. He concentrated and there he was. It folded over his feelings for Greg and he opened his mind.  
“May I take a hound home? She is way smaller now!” Sherlock asked and Mycroft sat up rubbing his head.  
“A hound? Bloody hell. Just go!” Mycroft said and grit his teeth.  
“Myc? What's up?” Greg woke and Mycroft was totally confused. He looked at Gregory and didn't see him.  
“Myc?” He just fell back and stared up at Greg. He hummed and closed his eyes. Greg didn't sense anything and he let go. He just moved up against his beloved. He closed his eyes and fell asleep again.

***

Sherlock was back at Baker Street and in his bed with him slept a Dobermann. It was Hannah. She still was bigger than a normal Dobermann, but he could take her around with him. And she still had some abilities like breathing fire or sending pictures to tell him what she needed or when she just wanted to talk to him. He smiled.  
Mycroft felt his brother being happy. It was good. Then he shook his head and there was Greg. He smiled. He needed to talk to Sherlock but not now. Let him adjust with his new best friend.  
But now Mycroft wasn't able to fall asleep again. He looked at Gregory who quietly snored by his side. God, how he loved this man. Gently he moved his fingers through his hair. Greg didn't react.  
Mycroft carefully stood and left the bed. He donned a dressing-gown and walked downstairs into his living-room. He poured a drink and thought about the things that had led to all this. Before the fire Jalraran had taken the computers of Ms Kingston and several other people from the London Chapter House. He had burnt all the rest, as well as the server. Mycroft opened her computer and looked through her files. He hoped, he could find something regarding the angel that had been killed. Or these angels generally. Sherlock had said there was lore about them, but what he had found was nothing. Not enough to work with. Castiel had only said they were some sort of abominations and only showing when the end was near. Mycroft snorted. If that were the case, he would have met them several times already during his political career.  
Castiel had also called John an abomination. John hadn't liked it, that much was clear. No wonder though. Sherlock had been helpless. So, he had tried to push John into reaction, to fight. But it hadn't worked. Science hadn't worked and forceful pushing hadn't worked. John hadn't reacted to Sherlock. Obviously, their love had been too fresh to survive such a crisis.  
Plus, Sherlock had had sex with Sam Winchester to enhance his experience. For Sherlock that was the most logical way. For John it was just cruel and he didn't understand it. Sherlock didn't understand John.  
There also was the attack inside Mycroft's kitchen. He still wasn't convinced, that the thing had been a simple shape-shifter. The spells hadn't worked, the silver-bullets hadn't worked, nothing known had worked. He had talked to Jalraran about it and he had promised to have look into the matter.  
And then the bloody Men of Letters had dared to threaten him. Him of all people. They should have known better. Well, he had taken care of it. After the destruction of the American section now their London Chapter House was gone, too. Except for the library he had taken over, of course. There were too many things in there that weren't to be lost. Or found.  
Now Sherlock was back at Baker Street and he had brought a hound back home. She was changed though. A spell had made it possible and Ms Black very reluctantly had let her go after communicating with her for a long time. Crowley had allowed it after having talked to her, as well. He also had performed the spell.  
Ms Black had bought the first set of what a dog needed in her opinion. Upon Sherlock's arrival back home, he had found a rather nice basket, several blankets, bowls with her name on it and a supply of meat and cookies. Mrs Hudson had just gaped at the big Dobermann, but when she got licked and huffed at and her tail was wiggling, she couldn't deny Sherlock his new best friend. She didn't question John's absence, even though she was sad.

***

“Are you brooding, my little human?” Jalraran was right in front of him. Mycroft looked up and smiled. Then he cast a quick look upstairs.  
“He is fast asleep. Don't worry.” Jalraran said and reached for the booze.  
“I am not brooding; I am thinking about the past events.” They drank together.  
“I brought you the things you wanted from the Men of Letters. Weren't they of any help?” Jalraran asked referring to the computers.  
“I have only started on them. I am not done yet and it will take some time.” Jalraran sat on the sofa.  
“I will be having a look at John for you, see how he copes. Plus, I have found another of the so-called abominations.”  
“Really? Where? When?” Mycroft was very curious and wanted to know at once.  
“Yes, really. You would know the place as Russia. His name is Anatolij Raskov. He is ...” Mycroft swallowed and ended the sentence.  
“He is the leader of the opposition in Russia. God, this is so not good.” He rubbed his temples and sighed.  
“I thought, it would be good? Would you like me to get rid of him?” For a moment Mycroft really considered the offer. He knew the man and he always had thought of him as good. But what would these powers do to him? Would he be corrupted? He would quite understand it, but he couldn't allow it.  
“I need to check on the situation first. May I get back to you on this? Please?” He looked up at Jalraran who rubbed his horns.  
“Sure, Myc. It's all fine. Perhaps you need to talk to that man? Need a quick ride?” He raised a brow and Mycroft smiled.  
“That actually might be the best idea. But I need to tell Gregory, that I'll be leaving.” Mycroft stood.  
“That's a wise idea. Your brother isn't that wise. I sensed a hellhound in his flat.”  
“Yes, I know. But she has changed, has given up herself. She is a Dobermann now.” Again, a brow was raised.  
“Really? Do you know its name?”  
“Hannah, I believe Sherlock said. But I understood, that all the hounds bared their stomachs to my brother. They all liked him.” Mycroft didn't understand, he had once met a hellhound and he had been scared to death, had almost wet himself.  
“So Crowley complained?” Jalraran asked with an unbelievable look in his red eyes.  
“Yes, he did. And I think, he was quite glad, that Sherlock left the castle and his hounds.”  
“Hannah, I see. She never found a companion and always stayed by herself. She worked her job though, brought souls to hell after shredding the bodies. But she never seemed to be a real part of the pack. It's interesting, that she picked Sherlock.” Mycroft shrugged.  
“I was told, he held some power over the pack. From moment one they all were interested in him. Crowley told me how very jealous Ms Black was.” Jalraran grinned and kept rubbing his horns.  
“Well, well. The little brother has some weird powers. I always wondered ...” He looked thoughtful.  
“You did?” Mycroft asked.  
“And what about me? Am I the only one without power?” Jalraran snorted and smoke drifted out of his nose.  
“Myc, please! You are the most powerful human I know. OK, you aren't a magician or a sorcerer, but you have so many skills without having to use magic. That's power!”  
“So, my manipulative skills make me more powerful than a magician? Really?” Jalraran nodded.  
“Oh, absolutely.” He smirked and then turned his head.  
“Your lover just woke. You should think of something to tell him regarding the Men of Letters and Sherlock.” And then Jalraran was gone. Mycroft sighed and finished his drink. He walked back upstairs and returned to Greg who sat already on the bed.  
“Myc? What's up? Where have you been in the middle of the night?” Mycroft slowly approached him and looked into his brown eyes.  
“There are still so many things I need to tell you. It won't be easy and it will be a lot to digest for you. It also concerns Sherlock and John.” Greg reached out for him and pulled him down, so he could sit by his side.  
“You can tell me everything, Myc. I know, you deal with stuff that is hardly explainable, that you hold power that can destroy lots of things. But I trust you, I really do. I just hope, you won't ever forget me again.”  
“I already apologised a lot for that. What do I need to do?” Greg grinned and shrugged.  
“I love that look of you right now, verbally shovelling and oh so clueless. And you don't have to do anything. We are good. Just take good care of me, so I won't get hurt.”  
“I promise.” Mycroft sighed and pulled Greg into his arms.

***

Sherlock woke early in the morning because Hannah needed to go outside. She whined and told him sorry inside his head, but she also gnawed at his wrist and pulled.  
“Can't you go by yourself?” He asked swaying out of his bedroom.  
“How am I supposed to open locked doors? Plus, I am too big a dog to be outside all by myself. I will get arrested and taken away to sit behind bars.” Sherlock ruffled his hair.  
“OK, OK, please stop. It's horrible!” He donned a pair of sneakers, tracking pants and a hoodie and opened the door. He jogged along Baker Street with Hannah on her leash. Like that they reached Regents Park rather quickly and he let her go over the special lawn only meant for dogs. He got a coffee to go and sat on a bench smoking a cigarette. He watched Hannah and felt very happy. Of course, his logical brain knew that Hannah wasn't a substitute for John.  
John, where was he now? Did he really join the Winchesters in their fight against the supernatural? And what about his wings? What about Castiel? Would John even want to come back to him? They never really broke up, at least that was what Sherlock thought. He smoked his second cigarette and kept thinking about the matter.  
He decided to ask his brother about John. He just needed to know. Plus, he wanted to show off Hannah. He decided to invite himself for dinner that night. Perhaps Greg would be there, too. It would be good to meet him again.  
Soon his thoughts wandered back to John. He really missed him. He had been sitting upstairs in John's old room and looked at the few things, he had left behind. It wasn't much. Somehow everything had been collected and was gone. But inside his sheets and blankets he had found an old t-shirt, that still smelled of him. He had snatched it and angrily carried it downstairs to throw it away. But somehow it ended up in his bed and he held it tight when he tried to sleep.  
“Sentiment!” He angrily hissed and threw his paper-cup on the ground. Hannah came running and picked it up. She dropped it into the bin and nudged him on her way back. He got another coffee and let her play for a while. There were other dogs now and she seemed to have fun running around barking wildly.  
Sherlock enjoyed the early morning and closed his eyes. He kept thinking about John. And suddenly there was his voice in his head.  
“Sherlock, you are thinking too loud. You woke me up. Please think about the time-difference.” John chided him.  
Sherlock almost fell off the bench.  
“John, I am sorry. I didn't mean to disturb your sleep. I was just thinking about you. I was thinking about what happened to us. I still don't understand what happened to us. Forgive me. I try to stay out of your mind now.”  
“No, please don't. It's good to hear from you. I miss you, Sherlock. I really do.” Sherlock was surprised.  
“You do?” Sherlock asked.  
“Of course I do miss you. I love you, you berk.” Sherlock was able to hear him smile.  
“I love you, too. But I didn't know what to do. I thought, if you thought, it would ...” Sherlock tried to explain, but got interrupted again.  
“Oh, shut up, OK? Where are you anyway? Oh, wait. I can see you smoke in a park. Why are you in a park so early and clad in those clothes? What happened to you?” He sounded worried.  
“I am on a walk with Hannah. I brought her home.” Sherlock waited for John's outbreak. It didn't take long.  
“You brought a hellhound home?” He almost shrieked.  
“She offered to be turned. I talked to Ms Black and finally Crowley allowed it. Both of them talked to Hannah beforehand about the consequences. He turned her into a Dobermann, a bit over-sized, but just fine to have.”  
“She doesn't sleep in your bed, does she?” John asked and Sherlock just cleared his throat.  
“It's all fine. It's not mine to decide.” John quietly replied.  
“When will you be back? Will you be back?” Sherlock finally asked rather roughly.  
“If you want me back?” John asked. Sherlock almost cried.  
“Oh, John. Of course I want you back. I miss you every hour, every day. I only thought, if going away suited you best, I would just let you. I only wanted you to be happy, find your way.”  
“I am feeling welcomed here, I really do. The bunker is great, I have a nice room and the library is huge. You would like it. I went hunting with Sam and Dean several times and it was good. The weapons they have are fantastic. We killed several demons and vampires. The fights were gruesome, but I found out how I was able to kill them with angel power. But I ...” There John stopped his rant.  
“But you?” Sherlock carefully asked.  
“But I would prefer living with you any time. I would give this up any time, if only I could climb into bed with you again.” Sherlock felt very happy.  
“So you forgave me?” Sherlock asked.  
“There is nothing to be forgiven. I kept thinking about what you did with Sam and I finally understood. I mean, I have known you for a very long time and I should have known better. You would never have betrayed me just for the fun of it. I am sorry, Sherlock, for having not trusted you.”  
“No, I was reckless, like usual. I ...”  
“Hush, please. We are good, aren't we?” John breathed heavily inside his head.  
“We are.” Sherlock replied smiling.  
“I will be back soon. You should prepare Hannah. I don't want to fight with her about the place in your bed.” Sherlock laughed.  
“Perhaps I need a bigger bed?” John laughed, too, and cut off the connection.  
Right then Hannah came back running and looked up at Sherlock. He reached out for her and hooked the leash back on.  
“I talked to John, my lovely. He will be coming back soon. Please don't eat him.” He seriously looked at her and she knew how he meant it.  
“I want you to be happy. Of course I won't hurt him; only if he hurts you. And even though he is an angel and I am only a Dobermann; I will get him.” They were back inside 221B and Sherlock knelt by her side and hugged her.  
“I am glad you came back home with me. Tonight, we will visit my brother and his boy-friend. They are nice people. The food will be good.”  
“Breakfast?” She asked staring at her empty bowls. Sherlock scowled and quickly filled one with water.  
“I am sorry, Hannah. I am not good with this. You have to remind me.” He looked at her and then opened a can with dog-food. She managed to look annoyed.  
“I know, I know. I will go to the butcher right after I have showered and dressed. You may come along but not inside.” She huffed and poked into her bowl. But she ate it. Afterwards she tugged her tail beneath her body turning away from Sherlock who looked sad by now.  
He quickly showered and got dressed. He could be very fast if needed. Now it was needed. He dashed downstairs with Hannah on his heels while already checking Google for butchers close by. He never had been to a butcher and wondered about the quality. Unfortunately, Mrs Hudson wasn't in, so he couldn't ask her. She would have known. That's why he just picked the first on his list and looked through the window. The door opened and closed several times and finally Hannah sent a comment.  
“No, Sherlock. It smells funny inside. Not good.” Sherlock nodded and they walked up to the next store. Only the fourth on the list found their approval. It was a rather small shop but looked good and the people were nice, too. Hannah had to wait outside but looked into the shop. The woman behind the register cooed.  
“Oh, she is beautiful! And rather big for a Dobermann, isn't she? Where did you get her? Here, take this as an extra for her.” She handed over a thick sausage wrapped in a piece of paper. Sherlock was surprised.  
“Thank you, we appreciate it. Do you do deliveries?” She nodded and handed over a card and a folder.  
“'Yes, of course. This is our website. You can order online or give us a call. Depending on the distance there might be an extra fee.” Sherlock waved her off.  
“Yes, never mind. I don't care. You have quality stuff here and it is perfect for her.”  
“Thank you very much, Sir. May I ask after her name?” Both of them looked at her through the window.  
“Her name is Hannah.” The woman smiled and Sherlock left. Hannah wagged her tail staring at the sausage.  
“Yes, this is for you. The nice lady in there gave it to me especially for you. Here you go.” He unwrapped it and Hannah quickly snatched it away. It took two bites and the large sausage was gone. She licked over her snout and expectantly looked at the wrapped meat inside Sherlock's bag. But he shook his head.  
“No, Hannah. This is for later. And tonight we are having dinner at Mycroft's. You may have a cookie back home.” He stuffed the paper into the bag and took the leash.  
Back home he called his brother. He picked up rather quickly.  
“Why aren't you texting as usual?” Mycroft asked.  
“Hallo, brother-dear, how are you?” Mycroft sighed.  
“Hallo, Sherlock. So?” Sherlock chuckled.  
“It's too much for a text. I will tell you more tonight, but right now I am telling you, that John will come back home soon. I talked to him this morning. We are good. Plus, I wanted to invite Hannah and me for dinner. I hoped, that Greg might be in, too? I haven't seen him for quite a bit.”  
“I see. I am glad to hear, that John will be back. And of course, you and Hannah are welcome tonight. Greg will be here, too. In fact, he still is here.” Sherlock could hear him smile and for once wasn't mean.  
“I like you being happy, you know that, don't you?” He quietly asked.  
“I do, Sherlock. Don't you worry, OK?”  
“OK.” Sherlock sighed.  
“Be here at 7 sharp. I will provide meat for your dog, as well.”  
“Thank you. See you!” They hung up and Sherlock looked at Hannah.  
“We are invited into my brother's place. He is very powerful, so please behave and don't break anything.” She huffed.  
“Don't worry. You could tie me to a lamppost outside just to be sure.” She quietly growled.  
“I would never do such a mean thing!” Sherlock was shocked and buried his face into her fur and she was pleased again.  
“You will join us inside and sit by my side at the table. No matter what my brother says.”  
“I know how to behave. If I may stay by the fire, it's all fine. I will have my dinner in the kitchen.” She once licked his hand and then walked into the bedroom to have a nap. Sherlock looked at her jumping up on the bed and close her eyes.  
He sat in his armchair and missed his tea being brought up by Mrs Hudson. He sighed and got up again. He brewed fresh tea and looked at John's favourite mug from his army days. Only then he realised, that he might have taken many things with him, but not this mug. It should have been a clear sign for Sherlock, that his intention never had been to leave him. He smiled and gently moved his fingertips over it.  
He took his tea and sat in his armchair thinking about how to make John welcome. He could clean the flat? Tedious. He could go to Tesco and fill up their supplies? Even more tedious. He looked around. There were dirty dishes all over the place, the fire-place was very dirty and his clothes were all over the furniture. One shirt even hung over the lamp. He pulled a face. John would just look at him, but this wasn't the place Sherlock wanted him to come home to.  
He finished his tea and got up. He collected the dirty dishes and ran the dishwasher. He got rid of several forgotten experiments and scrubbed the places where they had grown into something nasty. He collected his clothes and dashed to the dry-cleaner. On his way back he bought some fancy foam and candles and made up the bath. He was sweaty when he was done, but was rather pleased with himself.  
“It's almost time.” Suddenly there was Hannah and Sherlock checked the time.  
“I'll shower very quickly and then we can go.” They made a beeline through Regents Park before hailing a cab. The cabbie was a bit scared because of Hannah, but she behaved. She didn't even jump on the seat. She was large enough to look outside while sitting. They left the cab after Sherlock had paid the cabbie and even tipped him rather nicely.  
“See? This is my brother's house.” She walked by his side and he knocked. The door was opened by Greg and Sherlock's face lightened up.  
“Greg!” He was happy and at once hugged him. Greg was caught by surprise, but let him. Then he saw the big Dobermann and tensed. She didn't move, but wagged her tail a tiny bit. Sherlock closed the door and hung up his coat.  
“Greg, meet Hannah. Hannah, meet Greg, my brother's boy-friend.” She looked at him and he lowered himself down on his knees.  
“Hallo, Hannah. Nice to meet you. I have heard about you, you know? May I?” He slowly lifted his hand. Hannah liked him; his voice was nice. This was a good man and she pushed against his hand. Her tail wagged more. Greg ruffled her fur and she growled quietly.  
“Hallo. I wish, I would be greeted like this sometimes.” Mycroft stood by Greg's side and looked at the Dobermann who was trying to gnaw his hand off. Greg looked up and just grinned. Mycroft went down on his knees and just touched. He knew how to talk to her using his mental abilities.  
“Hallo, Hannah. Welcome to my place. I bought the finest meat for you and you may stay with us for dinner, if you like? You may also roam the place, I don't mind.” She looked at him.  
“I was warned beforehand, but I can sense you are a good man.” Mycroft smiled and carded through her fur.  
“I bet you were.” Both men stood again and followed Sherlock into the living-room where he had helped himself to a drink already.  
“You remembered me. How nice.” He pouted and Hannah placed her big head on his lap. At once he smiled and pecked a kiss on her snout. She growled. Greg couldn't believe his eyes and Mycroft was just plain happy.  
“Sherlock, you have left me behind with that freaking angel case. You never called me about it.” Greg had been really angry at the beginning, but after having talked with Mycroft about the whole business he understood.  
“Yes, and I am sorry. Many things happened and we had to leave for Scotland.”  
“So I have heard. And you brought back Hannah.” She once barked and Greg quietly laughed.  
“Yes, I did. John will follow later.”  
“I should hope so. I need to take him to a pub.” Greg said grinning broadly.  
“He will like that. But be prepared because John has changed.” Sherlock was being honest about it.  
“His taste in football sure didn't. About the other things? I don't care.” Sherlock beamed at Greg without saying a word. This had just been so Greg.  
“Dinner is ready.” Mycroft called from the kitchen and they all walked into the dining-room. There was a big plate for Hannah with a huge steak on it. She quickly sent a thank you to Mycroft and settled down beside it. The men sat at the table and started with the soup. Even Sherlock ate the soup. He hadn't eaten all day and had unconsciously nibbled at one of Hannah's cookies when feeding her until she had stopped him.  
Actually, Sherlock ate everything that was being served and Mycroft was glad about it. After dinner they settled in the living-room and Hannah automatically lit a fire. Greg almost suffered a stroke, but Sherlock and Mycroft just laughed. Hannah looked stricken and her ears laid back against her head when she nudged Greg very gently.  
“I am fine. Never mind. I should get used to this.” He petted her head and she was calm again. She rolled her body and closed her eyes by the fire. Then Mycroft started to talk to her.  
“Hannah, how come you wanted to leave with Sherlock?” She huffed.  
“I was so tired. I was fed up with all the bloody hellhound business. I did my job because I had to. And then your brother came. He was different. I had never sensed a human like him before. He is special.” She sighed and Mycroft snorted.  
“Forgive me, Hannah. Please go on.” He closed his eyes again and sipped his drink.  
“He liked us, the pack. I could sense, he wasn't prejudiced. I stepped up and he liked me, too. We became close and I found I could talk to him. Later, after his break-up with the angel John, Ms Black allowed me into his room. I liked it a lot. I never had been taken places. For once I was treated like a friend and not a servant.”  
“But you gave up your pack and your former life. Are you sure it was the right decision?” Mycroft asked and at once there were many pictures in his head showing him Hannah sleeping in Sherlock's bed, Hannah playing with Sherlock in Regent's Park and many more. Mycroft understood. Sherlock was Hannah's pack now and she had never felt like a member of her former pack anyway.  
“May I ask something?” Hannah blinked up at him and he lightly tilted his head.  
“How come you are close to Jalraran?” Mycroft choked on his drink.

***

Sherlock had told Greg everything about John's change. After he was done, he topped up their drinks and thoughtfully looked at him.  
“Why don't you say something? Greg?” Sherlock kept asking until Greg looked up.  
“Well, it's quite a lot to digest, isn't it?” He sighed and drank. Then he looked up again.  
“So, the corpse we have found at the beginning, it really was an angel? It was not paint on the floor?”  
“It was an angel, yes. He had been killed and when angels are killed, their wings are burnt into the ground. I have seen it again afterwards after one was killed by Castiel in my living-room.”  
“In your living-room. I see. No, I don't. But anyway. And now John is an angel, too? With wings? How does he cope?”  
“What do you think, Greg? You know him. He freaked out! If he would have coped, he would be here with me now.”  
“And where is he now?” Greg asked being his curious police-self. Sherlock sighed.  
“He left with the Winchesters and Castiel. He is in Kansas. But I talked to him this morning and he will be back soon.”  
“Him having become an angel wasn't the only reason he left, was it? What did you do, Sherlock?”  
“You know me quite well, Greg. I don't like it.” But he smiled, even though a bit sadly.  
“So?” Greg wouldn't let go.  
“It's not easy to explain because it's considered weird. But you know me, Greg. So simply listen.” And Sherlock told him.  
“Well, this was so you. John should have known better. I understand his hurt though. Perhaps he thought, you preferred that Winchester because he looked better? Was taller? Whatever?” Sherlock looked at him and slanted his eyes.  
“Yes, I do have a picture.” Greg blushed but leant over. Sherlock pulled out his mobile and showed him. Greg stared and licked over his lips.  
“Oh yeah ...” A cushion flew against his head.  
“I heard that.” Mycroft scolded. Sherlock laughed and Greg blushed.  
“And you understand. He is a great looking bloke, isn't he?” Mycroft just nodded thinking of Jalraran. He hadn't yet replied to Hannah. He now did.  
“He and I go a long way back. I was still a young spook. You know what a spook is, don't you?” She huffed and Mycroft continued.  
“I managed to get almost killed and Jalraran saved my life. Up to today I have no idea why he was there or why he cared. He disappeared rather quickly but visited a day after I had returned home. We talked. He repeated that for almost a month until we were good pals. By then I still hadn't known he was a demon. Only then he revealed himself and I almost suffered a heart attack. He calmed me down and explained a lot. Then we had sex.” Mycroft topped up his drink.  
“What did he want?” Now Mycroft looked directly at her.  
“Nothing. He never asked for anything and he never called in a favour. He ever only offers his help and very rarely I am asking him first. Once and again he visits and we have sex. I consider him a very good friend, a friend with benefits.” Mycroft smiled.  
“I see. But now you have Gregory whom you won't betray, right?” Hannah asked.  
“No, I won't. I once did because I was very confused. But I won't repeat it. Never again. I do love him very much.” Mycroft smiled and Hannah tilted her head.  
Suddenly there was a bowl of nosh shoved under his nose.  
“You want?” Greg asked and Mycroft raised one brow.  
“Me not want.” He replied and it made Sherlock laugh out loud. This was so not his brother. Greg did him loads of good. Sherlock stood and passed by his brother on his way to the bath.  
“You aren't fat, Myc. Take some.” He left the room and Hannah stood, too. Slowly she walked out of the room and was on the look-out. And suddenly she barked wildly and ran to the entrance. Mycroft and Greg stood and followed at once. Guns were drawn and Sherlock came running, too. They all stared at the door until Mycroft activated the camera after the bell had been ringing.  
“Who's that?” Greg asked.  
“I have absolutely no idea.” Mycroft replied and looked at Sherlock who just shrugged. Hannah sat by their side and simply growled rather dangerously.  
“I believe someone up to a bit not good regarding to Hannah.” Now she barked again. Mycroft pressed the button so he could be heard outside.  
“Who is this?” He simply asked.  
“An abomination. We need to talk.” Mycroft raised a brow and Sherlock was getting curious.  
“You don't want to let him in, do you?” Greg asked looking at Mycroft. The hair on Hannah's back stood up.  
“I have been warned about one more. And this isn't the one.”  
“He can't get in like Crowley or Castiel, can he?” Sherlock asked.  
“Not anymore. I have upped security for this place. That's why he is still outside and even ringing the bell.”  
“Meet him at a safe place. Get help and only then find out what he wants.” Sherlock suggested.  
“Very well.” Mycroft spoke to the angel again.  
“Leave your number and I will tell you where to meet. You can't come in.” The angel looked irritated but not angry.  
“Very well.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved a wallet. He got a card and shoved it into the letter-box.  
“There you are. Please call me as soon as possible. I don't want to harm you. I was told, you could help me to get in contact with other … other beings like me.” He shrugged and sighed. And then he left.  
“That was weird, wasn't it?” Greg said and the brothers simply nodded. Sherlock looked at Hannah.  
“What about you, my lovely? What do you think? Was he dangerous? Did he want to harm us and simply lied?” She huffed and they all walked back into the living-room.  
“I only sensed he was one of those angels, abominations. That normally means danger. But I couldn't sense more because this place is shielded. Perhaps he is like your John where I can't sense anything bad. Perhaps I should come with your brother when he will meet him?” Hannah suggested. Sherlock though shook his head.  
“No, Hannah, that's unnecessary. He has enough help.” Mycroft turned his head.  
“Thank you for the offer though, but my brother is right.”  
“What's going on? Is there some mind-reading going on?” Greg looked from one to the other and demanded an answer. Hannah tried him very carefully.  
“Yes, there is.” At once Greg looked down and then just stood there with his mouth open.  
“Shut it, love. It isn't very attractive.” Mycroft said.  
“She is in my head.” Greg whispered all fascinated.  
“So am I now. So what?” Sherlock grinned. Greg's head slowly turned.  
“And me, too.” He looked at Mycroft now.  
“You try it, Gregory.” Hannah nudged him and he concentrated.  
“Who can hear me now?” Greg tried very hard and Mycroft looked like he was waiting for something and Hannah perked her ears but didn't answer. Only Sherlock did.  
“I can. It seems you can only reach me. I don't know why. You have to practise more. Telepathy can be very helpful. Mostly in your job.” Greg grinned.  
“This is amazing. I think, I need another drink.” Greg walked over to the bar and topped up their drinks.  
“What is going on? Sherlock, did you hear him?” Sherlock nodded.  
“Yes, I did, brother-dear.” He smirked and Hannah huffed and once nipped his calf. Sherlock yelped.  
They stayed for another hour, but then Sherlock yawned.  
“Let's go home, Hannah. I am tired.” She stood and stretched. They thanked Mycroft for his hospitality and Sherlock hugged Greg, too. Hannah nudged him. Mycroft called for his car and they rode home. Sherlock's eyes were only half open when Hannah nudged him again.  
“Look, we are having a visitor.” She sounded happy.  
“What?” Sherlock asked leaving the car and standing on the pavement.  
“The light is on.” He looked up and right she was. And then he sensed him.  
“John ...” A smile came up, that made Hannah glow with love for him. Then Sherlock stormed into 221B and upstairs with Hannah on his heels. He pushed open the door to the living-room and panted looking around.  
“John?” He cried turning around in a circle.  
“Bath!” Sherlock dropped his coat and scarf and, on the way, even managed to get out of his shoes. He stormed almost stumbling over his feet into the bath pushing open the door. And there was John lounging in the tub. He happily looked up at Sherlock who plonked on his knees by the side and reached out for him.  
“John.” He moved his fingertips over his face and hair. John took his hand and kissed his knuckles. And then he just grabbed him completely and pulled him over the edge. Sherlock landed shrieking on top of him and water splashed everywhere. They kissed and touched as best as they could.  
“I am so happy ...” Sherlock almost cried.  
“So am I.” John roughly whispered. They held each other tight.  
“Where have you been? Crime scene?” John asked.  
“No, I invited us over to dinner at Myc's. Greg was there, too. I am sorry, I wasn't at home when you came back.”  
“Who is us? And you couldn't have known I was coming over today, because I didn't tell you. It was a surprise.”  
“Us is Hannah and me.” He looked over his shoulder, but couldn't see her.  
“Hannah, my lovely? Are you OK?” He called out and a muted bark was the answer. Sherlock raised a brow.  
“Go and see her. Also get dry or you will catch a cold.” Sherlock let go.  
“Yes, my Captain.” He smugly smiled and climbed out of the tub dripping wet. He shed his clothes on the way and grabbed a towel followed by a bathrobe. John's eyes were glued to Sherlock's body and followed his slow moves. He wondered how Hannah would cope and gave them some time.  
Sherlock found her in front of the fire-place. She perked up her ears, but didn't get up.  
“What's wrong, my lovely?” Sherlock stroked her body and she looked up at him.  
“I wanted to give you time. You are happy now. The look on your face made me happy.” She licked his hand and Sherlock buried his head into her fur.  
“John was worried about you. He needs to adjust. We all have to. But I will never let you go. Do you hear me?”  
“Yes, I do.” No more was needed.

***

Later Sherlock and John lounged on the sofa drinking wine. The telly was on with some stupid tv-show. Hannah had crept closer again.  
“John?” Sherlock quietly said. His fingers moved over John's skin.  
“Hm?” John looked up at his loved one while his fingers were carding through his hair.  
“You don't mind Hannah in our bedroom, do you? I mean, I started it, and now she is used to sleeping with me in my room, sometimes even in my bed.” He seriously looked at John.  
“I am not asking you to throw her out of there, love. It's all fine.” Now he looked at Hannah who had been listening to every word being said. She once quietly barked and then tried to lick John's face. Sherlock laughed while John tried to defend himself. While doing so he fell off the sofa and Sherlock laughed even louder.  
Hannah placed her paws on John's chest and licked over his skin. Since both men had been naked, that was no problem at all.  
“Sherlock, do something! Tell her to stop!” John tried to sound commanding but laughed at the same time.  
“You try it!” Hannah tried to reach him and since John was a supernatural being by now, it was no problem.  
“What?” It only was a problem for him.  
“John, it's called telepathy. Please don't freak out.” The “again” was implied and John pulled a face. And he tried.  
“Hannah, please let me up now. I never would deny you the place in Sherlock's bedroom.”  
“Very good, John. I can reach everyone in our pack now.” She even looked pleased, as much as a dog could.  
“Pack?” John asked looking at Sherlock.  
“Yes, we are a pack now. Mycroft, Greg, you and me and Hannah.” Sherlock shrugged.  
“I see.” John sounded thoughtful.  
“No, you don't.” Sherlock smiled handing over his glass of wine.  
“No, I don't.” John sighed and took it.  
“Anyway, I don't mind. I don't have to understand everything. I just have to cope somehow.” He rubbed over his skin and looked around for a robe or blanket. Sherlock stood and got his dressing-gown.  
“Here, you are freezing.” He dressed into comfy clothes and Hannah lit a fire. John was very much impressed and it pleased Hannah a lot.  
Suddenly John felt Sherlock stare.  
“What?” John tilted his head.  
“You. I want to be with you. Now. Please?” Sherlock whispered and took his hand. John's eyes wandered over to where Hannah rested.  
“I'll leave you be. You need each other now. Just don't forget my breakfast and morning run!” She huffed and closed her eyes again.  
“I won't, my lovely.” Sherlock said and pulled John into the bedroom.


	9. Not Satisfied

Several days passed and Sherlock was telling John everything that happened while he was in Kansas hunting. He ended up with the angel's appearance at Mycroft's. His story had been interrupted by kisses while John was writhing on the sheets. His hands were tied to the headboard and his legs were over Sherlock's shoulders.  
“And?” John panted out his question.  
“And what?” Sherlock asked lubing his cock.  
“Will Mycroft meet that angel?” He asked groaning when Sherlock entered him with one single move of his hips.  
“Not alone he will. And now shut up!” Sherlock wildly fucked John into the mattress until John came. He had rather quickly mastered the skill to make him come without external stimulation. It always was amazing. And only when he had an exhausted and still shivering man beneath him, he fucked himself into oblivion.

***

Sherlock untied John's wrist and shook him.  
“My turn! Tell me about the hunting, the bunker, everything!” Expectantly he stared at John.  
“Now?” John sounded tired. Sherlock saw it and gave in.  
“Not now then. OK, I can see, I made you sleepy. But be prepared, I have bought many things to have the fun with.” With these words he got out of bed and took a shower.  
“God ...” John groaned and rolled on his front. But he smiled.

***

Sherlock clothed in a faded pair of jeans and a hoodie to go running with Hannah. She already sat by the door panting. Sherlock grinned and they left Baker Street while John was resting.  
Outside Hannah kept looking at Sherlock who just returned her stare. When it lasted too long, he simply raised a brow.  
“You have questions, my lovely. What's wrong?” He asked sitting down on a bench in the park.  
“I wonder, why you are tying your mate to the bed?” Sherlock blushed.  
“We like it. I mean, I get tied to the bed, too. It doesn't mean anything bad.” He tried to explain.  
“It surely doesn't sound like anything bad.” Hannah snorted, but wagged her tail. Then she took off.  
Sherlock sighed and lit a cigarette. How did she even know about their bondage-games? She could probably see it in their heads. What would she see when looking into Myc's and Greg's head? Sherlock shuddered and took a deep drag.  
He finished and played with Hannah for a while. Upon their return to Baker Street, he found his brother's car parked in front of his door.  
“I know, what you want me to do. I already could tell you something, you don't know about your brother?” She looked up at him. Sherlock stopped in front of 221B.  
“Please do so, Hannah! There will be plenty a reward for you!” Sherlock offered happily and Hannah once barked her approval.  
“Open your mind!” She said and Sherlock just did.

***

After having watched his brother with Jalraran, he had to sit down on the stairs. He buried his face into his hands and groaned.  
“I didn't want to know that ...” He ruffled his hair.  
“They know each other for a long time. Greg doesn't know. Mycroft does love him.” Now there were more pictures of Mycroft and Greg and Sherlock wildly shook his head.  
“Stop it, Hannah. Too much information.” He slowly stood stroking her fur.  
“But you asked for it!” Hannah sounded very sad and worried.  
“Yes, I did. Don't you worry. I am not angry. I just feel a bit disturbed ...”  
“Let's go meet our pack. It will help you feel better.” She nudged him and they went upstairs.

***

Hannah stormed inside and ran around everybody. Clearly Greg was having the most fun followed closely by John. They chased each other through the living-room. In the middle of the chaotic display stood Mycroft and watched. Somehow, they managed not to throw him over. Sherlock watched for a while and grinned happily. Hannah had been right, this made him feel better.  
“We are complete. Please stop this nonsense now. We have urgent matters to discuss.” Mycroft was in their heads and somehow it was much more impressing than being normally spoken to. The running stopped and everyone sat down.  
“Thank you.” Mycroft sighed and Hannah huffed but settled down, too.  
“Is it because of the visitor you had?” Sherlock asked. His brother nodded.  
“Indeed, it is. I collected information and found he is quite the regular guy. I think, we should meet him.” He looked at them.  
“But not at your home.” Greg intervened.  
“No, I need a safe place for that.” Mycroft replied nodding.  
“Do you have something in mind?” John asked.  
“Baskerville.” Mycroft replied.  
“But it's military?” Greg wondered.  
“How do you make Baskerville into something angel-protected?” Sherlock asked.  
“I have my methods.” Mycroft sounded smug.  
“Oh, you sure have ...” Sherlock murmured and they locked eyes for a few seconds.  
Suddenly Hannah stood and her ears perked up. John also stood and met Hanna's eyes. Both of them seemed to be alerted by something.  
“What is it, you two?” Sherlock asked. Right then Castiel appeared and Hannah once barked, but settled down again.  
“Castiel, how nice of you to not teleport directly into my bedroom.” Sherlock acidly said. John took his hand and hushed him.  
“What do you want?” Mycroft asked. Greg simply handed over a drink for Castiel.  
“Thank you.” He held the tumbler a bit awkwardly, but finally looked at Mycroft.  
“The angel that came to your door. Have you met him already?” He asked.  
“Why?” Mycroft asked. Sherlock hated it, when he answered a question with another question. But Castiel didn't seem to be bothered, because he just reached into his coat and handed over a picture for Mycroft to take.  
“Dean and Sam gathered this from evidence. Is that the angel?” He asked. Mycroft looked at the picture until Sherlock just snatched it away. Now John had a closer look, too, and so had Greg.  
“This is him.” Mycroft quietly said.  
“This was him.” Greg corrected and Sherlock just groaned.  
“He was sort of our last trace to something similar to a solution. Damn!” Mycroft didn't look pleased. He even worried his lips.  
“There is one last possibility. But I have to go alone.” He needed Jalraran to take him to Russia. There wasn't any other way. Plus, he needed to shield himself from Greg in that matter. He wasn't supposed to know about him and the demon. He would never understand and run screaming.  
“You are right, brother-dear. He shall never know.” There was Sherlock right in front of him staring into his eyes. And he already had a shield up. How had he managed to accomplish that?  
“Never mind. You'll take care of him?” Mycroft asked and Sherlock confirmed.  
“Very well. However you found out, I don't care. But you seem to be sure about the fact, that I am safe.” Sherlock acknowledged that.  
“OK, let me.” Sherlock said and turned around again.  
“Greg, I know about my brother's connections. He will be perfectly safe. Trust me, Greg.” He looked directly into Greg's dark brown eyes. And Greg was lost, as usual.  
“I do trust you, Sherlock. You better be right.” He topped up their drinks.  
“So, this angel was killed in the US?” John suddenly asked. Castiel looked at him and moved a bit closer.  
“Yes, Sam and Dean found him in a hotel-room in Alabama. We thought, it could be worth showing you.”  
“It surely was. Even though we still have no idea who is killing these angels.” Greg quietly said.  
“They are old. Older than anything I know about. They are as old as the first demons who walked the earth.” Castiel whispered hoarsely.  
“But then they are supposed to be powerful, too. Why are they so easily killed?” John wondered.  
“And why do they show up only now? This is still a fucking riddle.” Sherlock angrily muttered.  
“Russia seems to be our last option. If Russia doesn't bring us further to a solution, I suggest we close this case. So to say.” Mycroft suggested. Sherlock looked up.  
“I agree. We can't do anything more. No matter, if more dead angels show up all over the world, we won't be able to solve it, find answers to our questions.” Sherlock looked around for confirmation.  
“Well, so Russia it is.” John said.  
“And then it's over.” Greg added.  
“Maybe.” Castiel said and disappeared.

***

While John sat on the sofa with Greg and Hannah in front of them, so both men could put their feet beneath her warm body, Sherlock stood with his older brother by the window. He handed over another drink for him.  
“What do you want?” Mycroft asked and Sherlock sighed.  
“I am just polite and do what John likes me to do.” He smiled one of his professional smiles. Mycroft grinned.  
“Bitch, please!” For a second Sherlock just stared but then burst into giggles shaking his head.  
“God, Greg does you good!” Both men smiled now and it was genuine.  
“So, Sherlock? What is it?” Mycroft looked at him. Sherlock threw a glance over his shoulder but John was deep in conversation with Greg.  
“I'd like to meet your demon.” He whispered and Mycroft raised a brow.  
“I should have seen that coming.” Mycroft just said and looked at his younger brother. Sherlock just waited.  
“Well, you shall be by my side upon his arrival. You may even stay when I am talking to him. I am sure, he would like to finally meet you, too.” Sherlock became excited.  
“You think so?” He wondered.  
“Oh, absolutely.” Mycroft nodded.  
“Tomorrow around noon?” Sherlock asked and Mycroft confirmed it. Then they both turned back to the room.  
“Now look at that.” Sherlock shook his head.  
Somehow Hannah had managed to squeeze between John and Greg and had pushed both men to the side of the sofa. She was curled in the middle and looked really pleased. John and Greg really didn't.  
Sherlock quickly took a picture with his mobile and sent it to Mycroft, too.  
“Myc? I am having an appointment with the Super tomorrow. I really need to go to bed. Hannah, let me up!” Greg tried to stand and finally managed. Hannah bumped her snout into Greg's behind and he jumped a bit forward.  
“Oi! Beast!” She wildly wagged her tail hitting John in the process who stood up, too.  
“I need to go to bed, too. I'll have an early shift.” Sherlock slowly approached him.  
“Yeah, old man. You better go and rest your foul body.” He offered his arm. John slanted his eyes and disappeared into the bath after waving to both Mycroft and Greg.  
Sherlock closed the door after his brother and Greg had left. John was still busy in the bath and he looked around. Then he sighed and started to collect the used tumblers and empty bottles, plates, and bowls. He knew, John liked it tidy and expected him to do the chores once and again. He stored everything away into the dishwasher and even started the thing.  
“Water, please.” Hannah was already half asleep in front of the fire and Sherlock filled her huge bowl.  
“Good night, my lovely.” He stroked over her fur and she licked his hand. He quietly laughed and entered his bedroom.

***

The next day Sherlock rode over to his brother's house. Hannah was with him and he had told her what to expect. He left it to her if she wanted to be there or stay at home. For a minute or so she was very pissed with him. Of course, Sherlock didn't understand.  
They rode in the cab and Hannah explained that she would be with him as long as he wanted. Only then he got it.  
“Oh, honey! I didn't mean to push you away! I just thought, you didn't want to meet a demon! I mean, after you have left the others and came to live with me.” Sherlock hugged her and earned a weird glance through the back-mirror.  
“Human moron!” But she licked his face.  
They entered through the front door and walked directly into the living-room. Mycroft was having a drink.  
“Isn't that a bit early, brother-dear?” Sherlock asked. Mycroft turned around and shrugged.  
“Somewhere on the planet it's five o'clock already.” The brothers grinned and Hannah huffed. Sherlock helped himself to a drink.  
“So, have you called him already?” Sherlock curiously asked.  
“Yes, he has.” Suddenly and without any warnings, Jalraran had appeared right in their middle. Hannah jumped up and was on high alert. She stood stock still and so did Sherlock.  
“It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Sherlock.” Jalraran approached and pulled him into his arms.  
“Urgh ...” Sherlock made a strange sound and Hannah crept closer.  
“Don't worry!” Jalraran told Hannah and let go of Sherlock. He quickly embraced Mycroft and pecked a kiss on his ear. Mycroft blushed and Sherlock smirked.  
“What do you need, Myc?” Said one rolled his eyes. Then he explained. All the time Sherlock was watching him, studying the body, the skin, the moves, simply everything. He wished for a skin sample and perhaps a bit of his hair but he knew better than to ask.  
Suddenly it knocked and the door was opened. Anthea stepped inside and Sherlock held his breath.  
“Sir, I am sorry to disturb your meeting but you need to see this.” She switched on the telly and stood by his side nodding to Jalraran.  
“God, how cool is she really?” Sherlock wondered.  
“Doesn't she see there is a demon right in her bosses living-room?” Sherlock kept staring.  
“No, she isn't, brother-dear.” Mycroft said inside his head.  
“She just sees your brother's appointment. And don't stare like that, young one, it's unbecoming.” Sherlock got a faint blush on his cheekbones. He decided to watch what was on the telly instead.

***

Five minutes later Anthea was gone again and the brothers absolutely clueless. BBC news had reported the death of a certain Russian politician.  
“I should call Castiel and let him know about this.” Sherlock muttered topping up their drinks.  
“Sherlock, please don't be so impolite to my guests?” Mycroft pointed at Jalraran.  
“Forgive me, I had no idea he drank this.” He quickly poured a drink for the demon.  
“Thank you, Sherlock.” He drank half of the glass down in one go and closed his eyes in delight.  
“Oh, Myc, you have always the best stuff!” But suddenly he pulled a face.  
“And I don't think you have to call Castiel.” He looked at Sherlock while saying so. Right then Castiel appeared and Sherlock just poured another drink.  
“John is not here.” He pushed the drink into the angel's hand and turned away again. Castiel stared at Jalraran and obviously had no idea what to do or say.  
“Castiel, long time no see.” Jalraran said grinning all over his face. Castiel cleared his throat and turned to Mycroft.  
“I was able to feel it. Another angel is dead, am I right?” He quietly asked.  
“We even believe, it's the last one. Was.” Mycroft finished his drink.  
“Sam and Dean have searched everywhere. And found nothing.” He drank.  
“What are we supposed to do now?” Sherlock asked looking at them.  
“Nothing, I believe. You can do nothing. There are no more angel-abominations on this earth. It's over.”  
“It's unpleasant.” Mycroft topped up their drinks again.  
“Sometimes there is a riddle without a solution and it can't be helped.” Sherlock sighed and felt beaten.


End file.
